


The taste of your skin

by bjorn_ironside



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Falling In Love, Fights, Hate to Love, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Kidnapping, Knifeplay, Love/Hate, M/M, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Slave Trade, Slavery, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27509485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjorn_ironside/pseuds/bjorn_ironside
Summary: When Ivar is walking through the market in Kattegat with his mother, he discovers something he wants at all costs - a Christian slave.
Relationships: Heahmund & Ivar (Vikings), Heahmund/Ivar (Vikings)
Comments: 55
Kudos: 95





	1. An extraordinary slave

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my dears!  
> Yes, I know - those who know me will now think, "has she started something new again..." And yes, she did. :D I was so taken with this idea that I just had to start it. I really hope you like it! You can always leave me some feedback if you want to. Have a nice rest of the week!

* * *

The bittersweet smell of the market and the stalls that were set up wafted through the alleys of Kattegat, wafted through the corners of each aisle like sweet billows of smoke and sat down with a slight pressure on the nose.

Ivar had loved that smell since he had been a little boy. It was the excitement on the days when the traders from distant lands came back, which ran through every fiber of his body and made him excited like a little boy again and again - he had always been curious what the traders would bring next . Whether it was fine spices from other countries, new types of meat, skins, furs and jewelry - or slaves.

Since Ivar’s body had grown over the years, except for his crippled legs, he had evolved into a handsome young lad. His upper body was quite strong and well-trained, and he was particularly fond of his upper arms, which were muscular from pulling himself over the ground. As his body grew, he had developed the habit early on of moving on crutches; sometimes he used one, sometimes two, so as not to crawl around like a mangy snake on the ground while people looked down at him with displeasure. Now that he and his brothers were growing up, they had more respect for him anyway. And Ivar knew: one day he would be the king of Kattegat.

He pulled himself forward with a low groan, always following his mother, who was examining a few fresh apples with her delicate hands and was talking to the dealer. Ivar stuck his crutch in the ground and looked around; his blue eyes wandered over the many stands, stuck to precious, strangely coarse furs; and at the armories. He could even spot slaves at the edge of the market. With a low snort he ran his hand through his hair and looked at his mother, who was now carrying two apples.

"Mother," he uttered softly; the merchant bowed slightly to him, but Ivar only gave him a rough nod. His mother turned around; her bright eyes found Ivar's, and Ivar nodded in the direction of the slaves.

“I want to see what kind of slaves they have brought with them. Maybe it’s again some from these countries, where they all have terribly dark skin.", he continued; his mother smiled faintly, and Ivar looked back at the distant place where many people were chained or tied to stakes. It appealed to him to see people humiliated. He had always enjoyed walking past these subjects like a king, clearly knowing that he was better than them. How much he would like to have a slave himself, whom he might even be able to torture...

Ivar licked his lips lightly at the thought of blood; it wasn't just in battles that from time to time he was overtaken by pure greed for the thick juice. How often had he imagined bathing in the blood of his enemies, being able to eviscerate someone again.

"The slaves are from England, Olafsson said," the merchant said to Ivar in a slightly serene voice; Ivar didn't look at him, but snorted lightly. His fingers tightened around the crutch and he turned to his mother. His eyebrows rose and he said, with a soft, impatient undertone in his voice, “Can we go then, mother? I really want to see them. Maybe I can have my own slave."

Aslaug smiled slightly; she walked up to Ivar and stood next to him, so close that her robe lightly touched Ivar’s crutch; with a soft movement she stroked the young Viking's freshly shaved sides of the head and the finely braided plaits of his dark brown hair, but the latter only pulled his head away with a slight hiss.

“We don't need any more slaves. We have these clumsy girls from Hedeby, and they need enough food already. The winter is coming. It doesn't make sense before summer, Ivar.”, Aslaug replied softly, but Ivar just rolled his eyes and propped his elbow on his crutch.

“Yes, mother, and that's why we need new ones, because the sluts from Hedeby are useless. You can keep them in the pigsty, where they belong.", Ivar grunted and glanced over at the slaves again; there was a lot of hustle and bustle there, and many people looked at the slaves presented there. He was far too excited to look at them - true subhumans, born to serve. Trash in his eyes, and if it were up to him, they could all be hanged if they weren't good enough.

Ivar especially hated the female slaves, and he hated their fear and dislike for him. No one ever dared to lie down with him; even then, when he had tried to do it with Margarete, it had been a disaster. When the memory of that hideous night came up, Ivar swallowed, trying with one swift movement to hide the appearance of the blotchy blush on his cheeks; but his mother had already noticed.

She smiled gently again and then said with a wink, “All right. But we just look, there will be no more mouths that we will feed."

"If they are as useless and ugly as the ones from Hedeby, definitely not.", Ivar whispered in response and leaned on his crutch with another groan. His legs hurt particularly today again, and the pain even pulled up to his loins. But as always, he didn’t show anything from the pain to the outside; he didn't feel like lying on the soft furs of his bed half the day while the big market raged outside.

With his mother by his side, he walked slowly; the severe furrows from the many feet and carts on the muddy ground made it harder for him to walk straight; but at least his mother had enough patience and somehow always went at the right pace. Before they got to the slave booth, Ivar had to put up with the fact that his mother looked at two more jewelry booths without taking anything with her.

As soon as they entered the small square, another smell spread; instead of the sweetness of fruits and spices, the hard smell of sweat and fear penetrated Ivar’s nose, paired with the dirt of many people who hadn’t had the opportunity to wash for a long time. But Ivar liked the smell.

It made his nerves tingle as he and his mother dragged past the many strange faces, sometimes weeping, even children were there; with a low, amused giggle, Ivar pushed past them with a disparaging look. These people didn't deserve more anyway.

The oppressive smell of sweat and fear grew stronger and stronger as they passed some more women - most of the time they didn't dare to lift their heads; and when they did, they squealed like piglets. And Ivar didn't particularly like that. They were almost at the end of the row when one slave suddenly jumped in his eye without warning.

And he knew _immediately_ that this was no ordinary, dirty slave.

No - the blue eyes were immediately fixed on this one tall man who was chained like an animal with two chains to a rough wooden pole, as if he had been defending himself more; the men around him wore simple shackles made of animal hair.

But this man exuded a certain strength that Ivar tingled strangely in his limbs and that immediately engulfed him in a violent curiosity. With a low gasp, Ivar dragged himself two steps closer to the tall man so that he could take a closer look.

He had to admit that the man was well built. His back and shoulders were broad, and his stomach seemed as flat under the black leather armor as that of a warrior. His face was dirty, and there was also a fine crack in the face, the blood of which must have only recently dried - it shimmered dark red on the side of the black eyebrow, which had contracted sullenly and angrily. Under those dark brows lay crystal clear, light blue eyes that peered out like a predator - the eyes of a person who was used to paying attention. And surely, he didn't have the wound on his face from obeying, oh no - this man must have fought violently against his enslavement. Like his torso, his legs were tucked into dark trousers and black, well-worn boots; Ivar could see from the belt and the empty loops that the man must have had weapons with him once. The leather was slightly worn; like someone who had drawn his sword many times.

Ivar couldn't describe what exactly fascinated him so much in those moments that he even opened his lips slightly; he couldn't say for sure whether it was the slave's face, which was incredibly pretty, yet angular and pronounced, the bright eyes, the raven black hair - or his whole, manly appearance. But Ivar’s breath was slightly caught. A fine specimen of a slave. And when Ivar imagined how it must feel to stab this man in the side with a knife, very slowly, _softly_ , so that he would see and feel the muscles twitch in pain...

Ivar licked his lips excitedly and beckoned his mother to him with a rough gesture.

"Mother, I want this slave,", he announced firmly and rough; his eyes kept gazing at the apparently enslaved warrior until the man finally returned the look - it wasn't a friendly look. The bright eyes literally bored into Ivar’s, burning a hole in his terrible excitement and making him feel waves of heat shoot through his body.

Aslaug let out a deep breath and stepped closer to the slave; her bright eyes, just like Ivar’s before, ran over the magnificent body, and she even went a little further. With a rough hand movement, she grabbed the slave by the chin, turned his face a little towards the light. Ivar could see in the man's eyes that he didn't like it at all. The dark eyebrows drew together, also when Aslaug let go of him again.

“He's not common. But Ivar, we have enough slaves, and this one won't be made for housework.”, she muttered and waved the merchant over; Ivar bit his lip excitedly and looked at his mother.

“But mother, that's why, yes. He can be made to fight, and you've always said if I'm bored, I should stop teasing the girls because they're so scared. This one – this one would be just for me. I want to have him!"

While Ivar was still speaking, the slave trader approached them; he wore a half toothless grin when he saw the two talking about the slave.

“This one was a warrior, and he had a large sword with him. He's a Christian, some sort of... priest, or whatever they are called. Worshiped their filthy God the whole voyage, and he tore one of my men the throat out with a wave of the hand. We almost threw him overboard.“, the older slave trader growled, and tore the black hair on the back of the slave's head back with a rough movement; the Christian hissed lightly when his head was jerked up so roughly, but the trader didn't care. He pointed to a deep, elongated scar on the neck of the slave, and Ivar suddenly became terribly hot inside.

The scar looked like a terrible, almost fatal injury, perhaps from a battle; but it had healed well now - what pain it must have been, and how much blood must have flowed there… Ivar swallowed and licked his full lips again, before turning away from the slave and looking at the dealer with a harsh grin again.

"What does he cost?", he asked with a soft undertone; he was far too excited to play the prince's card now.

“Because he’s so tough and causes so much trouble, twice the normal price. Two small bags of gold.“, the dealer spat; he continued to present the scar to the obviously impressed Ivar, even if Ivar saw from the larynx that the Christian slave was slowly getting angry. Small veins showed up on the rough skin, covered with a few dark beard hairs, and Ivar propped himself up on his crutch. He felt dizzy - he _really_ wanted this slave. At all costs.

"Mother!" he uttered, but Aslaug just snorted. "No, Ivar, he's too expensive."

Ivar closed his mouth and looked over at his mother; she frowned and was looking at the slave. The latter was released by the dealer; with one furious movement the Christian bared his teeth.

“Mother, I want him. At all costs! He's not expensive considering that he killed another man."

"Yes, he is. He cannot do any work in the house, and he will try to run away- "

“The whores from Hedeby do that too! Hvitserk got one, and now I want this one. He can fight, we can use him for cattle labor. Or for hunting.”, Ivar said, slightly queasy; he just had to convince his mother. He couldn't hide the rough goose bumps that had spread over his forearms and how it had wrapped like a second skin around him - he was terribly excited. He was finally able to stick his beautiful knives in a body, in wonderfully firm skin... Even the skin of a real Christian.

Aslaug bit her lip and took another look at the slave, then again at her youngest and most sheltered son. She could read the excitement in his eyes, Ivar knew that - which was why he wasn't hiding it. His blue eyes pleaded with his mother, and when she finally rummaged through her robe with the corners of her mouth drawn down, Ivar knew immediately that he had won.

With a soft, amused laugh, he turned his eyes back to the Christian, who was now staring at Ivar in the same way: Ivar could see a lot of hatred, an incredibly harsh amount of rejection and anger. And it provoked and stimulated him. This excitement ran through his body like an electric shock and even made him forget that his legs were hurting more than usual today. Another laugh escaped him, a little louder, when he heard his mother handing two small bags of gold to the dealer.

The slave's eyes lingered on Ivar as well when the trader called his men with a harsh roar to loosen the Christian from his stake.

And now Ivar knew, with every hated look, that it would be more than a pleasure for him to torment this Christian, to hurt him, to torture him every day with the point of a knife and madness, until he was nothing more than a shadow of himself… Until now, he had brought every great man to his knees.

When three men had untied the slave from the stake, they kicked him in the back so that he fell to his knees with a harsh sound and a harsh gasp; blood dripped from the wound on his forehead to the ground, and Ivar bared his sharp canine teeth with joy.

And even though he was on his knees, Ivar could see that the slave was far bigger than himself. But his knife would make up for his size, it always did...


	2. That sweet taste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your love and all your support! :) I guess it will be slow build, but still I don't know exactly where this will lead us. :D You know that feeling? On the one hand, I want them to hold back as long as possible, but on the other hand... I want them to just f*cking do it. :D (sorry not sorry). Ivar will definitely be a little shit in this story. :D <3 Have a wonderful start into the new week!

* * *

Excitement.

Excitement shot through every single fiber of his body, ran through every tiny vein, filled every tiny cell of his skin; it really shot through his limbs and even took his breath away for a brief moment.

Ivar had to bite his lower lip hard not to let out a satisfied, light gasp when he saw the new slave kneeling in a cool corner of his room that same evening, tied up; the arms were chained to the left and right at the sides so that they remained loosely stretched out in the air while he wore a thick chain around his neck. Well secured so as not to cause any harm to the Prince of Kattegat, and the sight struck Ivar deep in the bones.

His blue eyes never averted their gaze as he pulled himself slowly towards the Christian slave on his crutches; he took his time, groaned softly as he dragged his right leg, and yet he couldn't help but grin. He felt exactly the pressure of the knives that he had previously tucked on the sides of his black leather belt and armor; the thick metal felt like an exciting premonition, pressed cool and bittersweet against his body.

The tall and still dirty-looking Christian watched the scene of Ivar's creeping up with deep disapproval; the look of his crystal clear eyes was revolting, if not angry - and when Ivar positioned himself in front of him with a low, melodic laugh, the Christian only grunted briefly.

“So, there we are. Isn't it nice to finally be off the marketplace, huh? Away from the other, smelly, dirty people?”, Ivar whispered softly and let out another laugh. His limbs had relaxed a bit, but his body was still electrified. He loved the sight of this Christian, this former warrior, kneeling there completely helpless with heavy chains and not even being able to defend himself. Almost like a mangy mutt.

The Christian showed no reaction to Ivar’s words; his lips pressed a little tighter together and he just lifted his head slightly. The chain on his neck rattled softly and Ivar got goose bumps. His blue eyes wandered briefly over the broad shoulders of his slave, then back to the grimacing face.

“You're not very talkative, are you? Well, we'll drive that out of you... After all, I'm your new master. Your new... God, if you want to. Because, let's be honest... where is your Christian God now?”, Ivar uttered amused, and pushed himself a step closer to the Christian; the sweet smell of dirt and blood filled his nostrils and he hissed softly. “No, your god is guaranteed not here. Which god leaves his children in chains..."

There was a loud clang and a hard blow as the Christian suddenly threw himself in the direction of Ivar, but was held back by the concentrated power of the metal; the body reared up and veins protruded from the arms, while Ivar just shook his head gently and with a soft smile.

“Ah, then he suddenly pricks up his ears… I was told that you are some kind of priest. Of course, it hits you particularly hard that I talk about your faith like that, doesn't it?”, Ivar’s voice was still soft, pervaded by harsh amusement; his eyes lingered for a moment on the powerfully tense upper body of the Christian before he slid back up to the bright eyes.

There was a low snort from the Christian and he licked his lips, which were still faintly covered with blood; white teeth showed in the dim light, and it looked almost like a bite, paired with dark words. "Don't you dare to talk about the Lord and Creator like that, you goddamn heathen!"

For a moment Ivar's breath caught, if only slightly: the slave had an incredibly deep, rough and scratchy voice. It went perfectly with the man's warlike and good looks, and although Ivar had never thought about it, the thought struck him for a brief moment: that this Christian had an impressive appearance. Paired with this dark voice, it almost gave him goose bumps.

_Nearly._

With a slight laugh and an amused look, Ivar pushed himself even closer to the Christian; pale blue eyes followed him with every move, and the Christian barely bared his teeth when Ivar was only about an arm's length away - again he yanked at the chains, with great effort, but he was only just under the distance.

“I talk _how_ I want, _what_ I want, _when_ I want it, you filthy slave. It may be that you were someone important before this moment - now you are not anymore.”, Ivar whispered to him, amused. It was a wonderful pleasure to irritate this man to the blood, to make him angry, because Ivar loved this rampant, brute force very much. He licked his lips briefly before saying with a slight nod:

"What's your name, slave?"

There was another snort, and the big man's eyes stared at Ivar like hungry dogs; Ivar could read a lot of hatred in it, and an uncanny urge to retaliate. It was just the perfect mix he'd always wanted - something the female slaves could never have given him. Violence. The urge to fight back. Fighting spirit.

"I will never tell you my name, because it wouldn't be worth much in your mouth.", the Christian hissed and suddenly, out of nowhere, spat into Ivar's face with a firm head movement.

Ivar was too perplexed, too caught up in the thought of violence, that he couldn't evade; the spit landed on his cheekbones. For a moment he froze; with a jerky movement he gently touched his cheek, wiped the spit away, and then raised his moistened fingers in front of his face to contemplate them. A slight grin, but with a bitter undertone, touched his lips - there was a slight trace of red blood in the spit.

Ivar wiped the spit away with one soft movement, wiped it into his pants, before he reached for his belt with one slow movement and grabbed his favorite knife with one safe and firm movement. It was a rough blade, almost too scuffed, but Ivar had had it sharpened, just for the Christian. The point was still shiny, the cutting edge sharp and terrifying, even if the leathern black handle looked a bit old and used. Ivar had already hurt many animals and people with this knife, and he liked to use it again and again because it was particularly comfortable to hold.

Ivar held the knife tightly, cast a brief, almost loving glance at it before lifting his gaze back to the Christian. The latter stared at him still angry and eaten away by hatred, but Ivar only let out a short, soft laugh.

He turned the tip gently in the light of the candle before saying softly, “What was that? I think you didn't understand something about your situation. You have no choice but to tell me your name. After all, I will need him when I accompany you to your personal hell in the next few days... don't you think so?"

He winked slightly at the Christian; he leaned back into the chains with a powerful movement and nodded roughly to Ivar. The blue eyes literally ate him up and Ivar had to swallow. So much _counterfire_.

"You don't dare to do that," he grunted in his deep voice, and Ivar raised an eyebrow.

“You think I don't dare? What makes you think it?"

With one fixed look, the crystal blue eyes brushed over Ivar’s body, from top to bottom - and for a moment, Ivar felt strange. A tingling sensation ran through his limbs and made him feel a hot wave of fire shoot through his fibers; the Christian's eyes on his body were a very different feeling. Otherwise the slaves or humans would always look away, trying to avoid glances at him. But he, this Christian -

“You are nothing more than a cripple. A little boy taking his toy from his mother -“

With a steady and trembling movement, Ivar suddenly tore the knife across the skin of the Christian's right arm; he hissed bitterly and let out a slight, angry gasp, while the slave in front of him only hissed lightly as the pointed blade sank through his flesh on his forearm. The wound was not large; but big enough that a tiny trace of red droplets dripped from the cut onto the floor, creating a sound that sounded almost like the dripping of fresh water. Drop by drop fell to the ground, and Ivar bared his white teeth while his blue eyes turned angry on the Christian.

" _You_! Do you ever dare to insult your master like that again, and I swear to you, next time it's not just your arm!”, Ivar uttered with a loud hiss; the corners of his mouth had drawn down tightly, and traces of blotchy blush appeared on his face, all from the incomprehensible anger against the slave. He didn't even look at his bleeding arm; the clear, light blue eyes were still strictly focused on Ivar.

“Do you think a little blood will make me cry? You don't even have the fights under your belt like me, if at all... You can go on playing your little knife games, you don't impress me in the least.", the rough voice said, and the clang of the chains sounded again; the Christian had leaned closer to Ivar, so close that the chain was already clearly visible on the skin of his neck.

Ivar took a quick look at his neck, licked his lips briefly when he saw the long, now tight scar on his neck - of course, the slave must be much older than him. Still, it didn't give him the right to talk to him like that. No matter whoever he was. The smell of dirt and blood mingled with something dark that smelled like fresh sandalwood; Ivar took a deep breath of the smell before closing his eyes for a moment and putting a soft smile on his face.

His fingers gripped the handle of the knife more tightly, and when he opened his eyes, he gripped the slave's neck with a firm movement, pulling him a little closer until the man's larynx was slightly depressed. Blue eyes met blue eyes and they stared at each other for a moment; the skin on the back of the neck felt hot, as if burned by the chains, and Ivar could feel his heart beating harder and stronger. The smell continued to cloud him until he said softly with a smile, "You still have a lot to learn, my good Christian."

He set the knife to the side of the slave's body with a gentle movement; he didn't squeeze, but he put enough pressure on the gentle spot between the rib cage and waist that the Christian let out a low snort. The eyes could not be let go; and when a few moments had passed, in which Ivar gripped the slave's neck a little tighter, he rammed the knife through the Christian's armor with a firm and targeted motion and pressed it softly into the skin.

There was a gasp and for a moment the slave closed his eyes; he let out a light breath that mingled with Ivar’s air, and Ivar chuckled. He pressed the blade only halfway into the pliable flesh, and gave the slave a moment to breathe; only then did he turn the tip slightly, and felt with pleasure how the body of the tall and strong man, despite the impressive barrier, twitched slightly and fought against the pain that arose.

"You know ...", Ivar gasped softly and pulled the Christian a little closer by the neck; he could feel the Christian's breath on his skin, and it gave him pure, soft goose bumps. It was a wonderfully exciting feeling to have this breathtaking, dangerous man so close to him, to smell him, to almost literally taste his skin. Ivar closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before he continued quietly: “…I always like to use this injury at the beginning. It won't kill you, but it's just the right place to cause you severe pain for days, especially when it's left untreated. It will hurt you when you move, it will hurt you when you want to sleep; it will even hurt when you breathe."

Ivar jerked the knife out of the wound and the Christian gasped again violently; despite the pain, the pale blue eyes were fixed on Ivar, who leaned back slightly and reluctantly let go of the warm neck; his fingers were sweating slightly, he was so excited inside, but he returned the Christian's gaze without any emotion. Only the excited glitter sparkled in his eyes, letting a little of the inner restlessness shine through.

"You will regret this bitterly," spat the Christian, and the man's dark eyebrows knitted together; when Ivar pulled back a little, allowing the sandalwood smell a little distance, he laughed lightly.

"Perhaps. But I don't think so. Because you will never be more than a poor, filthy slave again.” With a slight movement Ivar raised the bloody knife and looked at it in the light of the candle; the blood was dark red and thick, shimmered on the blade like delicious wine; and a deep urge set in Ivar, made him swallow excitedly. He brought the sharp edge of the knife close to his full lips, and out of the corner of his eye he could still see the Christian staring at him in disbelief with his bright eyes - before he slowly licked the knife with an enjoyable movement. The razor-sharp edge cut easily into his tongue, but he already knew this feeling. This blood was too delicious to waste, to rinse it straight away with water. No way…

The sweetness and thickness of the blood stuck to his tongue, making it easy for him to swallow - he licked off the entire blade, his blue eyes fixed on the Christian, who had leaned back slightly in his chains because his body was beginning to tremble a little. When the last drop of blood was drained and licked off, Ivar slipped the knife back into his belt and, with a slow movement, lifted himself more firmly onto the crutch; his eyes, however, lingered on the Christian. He still looked at him slightly disturbed, but didn't say a single word, not even when Ivar smiled broadly.

“You are no longer in England here. You are my slave now, and if I give you an order, you will have to obey. Or you feel like so many slaves before you... We have no mercy. And I, Ivar the Boneless, am probably your worst nightmare."

For a moment the Christian was silent; the light blue eyes wandered back up over Ivar’s body, and he let out a slight gasp that sounded almost like a laugh; when Ivar’s face twisted violently, the Christian uttered softly: “Ivar... the boneless? Have they also made your disability your name...? You are a folk of bloodthirsty, disgusting barbarians, and if my God wants it, I will die for him. But I will never bow to your will, or that of your pagan gods. I'd rather die."

Ivar looked at the tall, slightly trembling man who kept himself on his knees as best he could despite the pain: he had to admit that the Christian was extremely tenacious and offered him a concentrated counter-power, which Ivar was incredibly excited about. His senses were flooded by the smell of this man, by his appearance, this captivating, exciting closeness, and yet he dared not think any further - he couldn't put up with something like that. Even if his skin showed him that he was getting terribly excited around this black-haired Christian. The blood had been too delicious aswell, and the soft taste of this juice still clung to his tongue...

There was a slight snort, and Ivar nodded slightly as he pulled himself a little higher on the crutch. “It can be arranged because… without water and food, a person will not live long, and without fluid the wound will become infected. Your God will not give you a beautiful death, Christian.” Ivar almost hissed the last words, and the corners of his mouth drew down slightly; only when the Christian said nothing in response to these words, did he turn around and drag himself out of the man's field of vision.

Since they were in one room, but visibly separated by wooden panels and long, thick furs, Ivar pulled himself towards his bed with a little effort; he pulled himself up on the soft mattress and leaned his crutch against the small table next to his bed before breathing out softly, barely audible. Throughout the room he could hear a slight gasp and a slight, barely noticeable clink of the chains. Sleeping on his knees would be hard, but Ivar felt this Christian deserved it no other way. After all, he had insulted and ridiculed him, all because of his legs. He would show this subhuman how damn evil he could be!

With a gentle movement Ivar pulled his legs up on the bed and began to loosen the many braces and straps that held his thick greaves together; his fingers trembled slightly, but he was not deterred and continued.

Only when he finally lay with his back on the soft furs after a while and all the candles had been extinguished, he could give his body a little rest - at least he thought so. But thousands of thoughts rushed in his head, thousands of ideas about what he could do with this slave - he would be able to torment him so much, he would be able to hurt him - he would be able to make him beg for death. And he would be able to lick a little more of that addictive blood...

With a low sigh, Ivar closed his eyes and let his hands slide gently over his stomach; he thought of the Christian's smell, thought of the brief moment in which his hand had been on the strong neck, of the warmth on his skin, of the smell on his lips. It was an attractive smell that triggered more inside him than just pure bloodlust - Ivar could feel it, how his limbs still burned with excitement, how his lips burned and somehow wanted more, more of that taste.

He bit his full, soft lower lip, tried to call that smell back into his thoughts, while his hands slowly slid lower. What was that feeling? Women had never been able to trigger it, but now such a pleasant warmth spread through Ivar's limbs, an excited tingling sensation in his loins, which usually only hurt terribly... The fingers had almost reached his waistband, when a gentle clinking sound appeared and ripped him back again into reality.

The slave must have moved, and Ivar realized, almost with a slight sense of shame, what he was doing here. His hands found their way back to his chest, and with a deep breath he tried to relax and closed his eyes.

But when the darkness shut him in, two pairs of light blue eyes seemed to accompany him until he fell asleep, watching him with goosebumps...

* * *

"A ... what?", Hvitserk uttered; he stared across the table at Ivar, who had come later than usual for breakfast today; Ubbe and Bjorn were already gone, so that only Sigurd and Hvitserk and his mother were sitting at the table.

Ivar took a sip of water from one of the goblets and did not answer at all for the time being; his fingers grabbed a piece of bread incidentally before turning his blue eyes to Hvitserk.

“A Christian slave. He used to be a warrior, and mother bought him for me,” he replied and saw how Hvitserk's eyebrows knit in disbelief; then the middle brother looked at Aslaug.

“Is that true, mother? Why is he getting a slave? We've had enough of women, and why a man?", Hvitserk asked with a slight whisper, but Ivar just hissed before his mother could even begin to answer.

“Because I wanted him. The whores from Hedeby aren't worth any gold and I'm going to make him a berserk. He used to fight a lot, you can see that on his body..."

“On his body? Uh, sure you don't go any other way because the women all don't want you?”, Sigurd uttered, and he and Hvitserk gave a loud, cackling laugh, while Ivar suddenly felt an embarrassing blush on his cheeks; anger ran through his limbs like a bull, but before he could open his mouth and speak, his mother intervened.

“Let him, if he wants a slave like that, let him have him. And the girls are really useless... We could use someone for growing crops and raising livestock.”, Aslaug uttered with a low groan; her expression was transfigured today, and Ivar knew that most of the time she would have an internal headache; so he bit his lip and took a piece of the bread that he had previously taken.

“And _when_ is he going to start? I haven't had any barley soup in ages.”, Sigurd ranted and threw a piece of bread at Ivar; he let out a hiss and wanted to lean on his crutches, but Aslaug intervened as always.

"Let it be! Ivar, you go back to your slave and prepare him for sowing, you know winter is coming, and Sigurd, you are going to Ubbe with Hvitserk, now. You should have been hunting with him long ago."

The brothers parted only with reluctance and extremely hateful looks; Ivar stared angrily after Sigurd for a long time, only letting the waves of anger subside when he was completely out of sight; only then did he turn to his mother on the long wooden bench; both of her hands were on her temples and she had closed her eyes tightly.

“You should send Sigurd away, mother, he's a no-good and a failure. Can't I keep the Christian like this for two more days? He has to... acclimate himself first,", Ivar said quietly and gently; he ran his fingers over the rough wooden edges of the table, feeling the small fibers that sometimes pressed into his skin, slightly irritating. Today he felt particularly sensitive to any touch, and with a slight trace of red on his cheeks, he wondered if that was because of last night...

“All right, Ivar. Just don't kill him, he was too expensive. Even I can't just squander two sacks of gold for a dead man."

From his mother's bad mood, Ivar guessed that fighting was out of the question; so he just flicked his thumb and forefinger at a slave and pointed to a jug of water and a loaf of bread; the slave came closer with her head and face down and bowed.

“Take this to my room and put it on the table on the side. And don't touch the other slave, do you hear, filthy whore of a bastard?”, he snorted, and the slave nodded eagerly and went to work as said, while Ivar grabbed his crutches with a somewhat awkward movement and heaved himself onto them with some force. His back hurt - he had slept badly, plagued by dreams of bare skin, burning sandalwood, and dark blood smeared on lips.

With a red head he pulled himself behind the slave and groaned slightly. _Not killing him? It all depended on whether the Christian would bow to his will or not..._

__


	3. Intense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we are again! :) Thank you so so much for all your love and feedback! <3 I'm back after my stressful move into a new apartment, and what can I say - my fingers wrote this chapter by themselves, it feels so strange. :D Of course I hope you like it! Somehow you can't blame our little, angry Viking that he likes Heahmund like that... ;)

* * *

The Christian looked strangely a little better the next day than in the days before; Ivar wrinkled his nose slightly as he pulled himself up to the slave on his crutches, slowly, almost deliberately, and had his blue eyes fixed as if stubbornly on the powerful body of the Christian. The air smelled less metallic, and he could tell at a glance that the Christian had been washed, even if only poorly. But the icy traces of dirt and dried blood were almost completely gone.

With a low sigh, Ivar pulled the last few meters towards his slave; when he stopped in front of him he cleared his throat slightly, and it was only when this sound broke the silence in the room, that the Christian raised his head. The wound on his eyebrow looked clean, and although there were slightly dark shadows under his eyes, the Christian didn't look as exhausted as Ivar had suspected. Ivar’s eyes moved slowly over the slave’s face before he made a soft click of his tongue and returned the crystal-clear gaze of his counterpart.

“You should be more attentive, slave. When I walk into the room, you have to look at me straight away.", Ivar grumbled slightly; his eyes darted over the slave's neck, which was still taut in the chains; the scar there tightened slightly and Ivar licked his lips lightly.

The Christian let out a deep snort; he looked almost amused when he ran his bright eyes over Ivar’s face, studying the young Viking's features carefully.

“I don't think I'll ever stick to it. You are not a king and above all, you are not _my_ king. In addition, the floor is much more beautiful to look at than your face.”, the Christian uttered darkly; he didn’t make an expression as Ivar’s face twisted into a wide, amused smile, even if that smile was just a clever way to hide the anger that was boiling inside.

“So, you like to play with your life? My mother thinks I should let you live.", Ivar replied and pulled himself closer to the Christian; the smell of freshly washed skin grew stronger, as did the slight note of sandalwood that Ivar had smelled yesterday. He moved his nostrils slightly, sucked in the scent a little deeper before glancing again at the Christian's face. “But I see it differently. Mother may consider you dear, but for me - for me you are nothing more than worthless scraps. A toy to keep my spirits up. And as I can see, someone washed you even though I forbade it. Who can I thank for this?”, Ivar whispered and clapped the Christian hard on the cheek with the flat of his hand: the chains clinked softly, but the Christian only twisted the corners of his mouth downwards.

The cheek had been warm, pleasantly warm, and despite the short blow Ivar had felt the scratchy structures of the beard against his skin. It triggered a strange tingling sensation, this brief but intense touch.

“No one.”, was the short and concise answer that the Christian threw at him in a deep voice; Ivar clicked his tongue again and shook his head as he fixed the big man's chin with a sudden, rough movement. A murmur emanated from him; Ivar could feel the gentle vibrations of the larynx against his skin. It amused him to know that this man couldn't fight back. Not even in the slightest.

Ivar pressed his fingers firmly into the slave's skin, so hard that he could feel the muscles underneath the skin. The Christian made no expression, but Ivar let the glow of his eyes come through strongly.

“Oh, you know exactly who it was. I bet it was one of those stupid girls from Hedeby. They must have washed you because they felt sorry for you. You're a big and strong man, women get wet doing that.", Ivar grunted; his nails dug more firmly into the Christian's skin, so tight that the slave pulled his head back slightly. But the chains held him in place, so Ivar just let out a coarse laugh with flashing teeth before pulling the Christian's head closer to him with one rough movement. The Christian's smell awakened his senses, and it aroused so much desire for more. He wanted more blood, more suffering - he wanted to see more of this body, twisting under the pain of a knife in the skin as the well-trained man would tremble beneath him. Ivar wanted to taste blood - delicious, warm, dark blood, freshly drawn from a wound, only to see the Christian in shock.

Bright eyes stared at him, belligerent and brave; the Christian had no fear in his eyes. Well, not yet.

With a slight movement, the slave lifted his head slightly and nodded roughly in Ivar’s direction, while the rough voice chased through the room like a fire.

"You would kill that one, so I'm not telling you anything. You are not worth it that someone else has to suffer because of you."

Ivar smiled broadly; his fingers dug even a little tighter into the Christian's skin, and he pulled the man closer to him; so close that the tips of their noses almost touched. He could feel it, so clearly, now that they were so close: the inward dislike the Christian had for him, all the hatred. And above all the disgust for this physical closeness, which Ivar aroused terribly inside. He didn't know exactly what kind of feelings were building up in him, but the mighty heat was combined with a soft tingling sensation that ran up to his fingertips.

Ivar opened his full lips with a soft gasp, bit his lower lip lightly, before mumbling with a soft sigh: “You are worthless, have you forgotten who is dangling here in chains? And you still have it too good. I want you to bleed miserably every single day of the rest of your life until your veins are as empty as your mind... Oh yes, I would like that..."

He thrust his hand to the side of his belt with an excited shiver; yesterday's knife was well tucked away in it, and he pulled it out with a joyful ease, as if he had just unearthed something delicious. The blade flashed in the light of the candles, and although their faces were still so close, the Christian let out a snort. The lips parted as Ivar set the knife to the base of his chest and squeezed it lightly; but the crystal blue eyes showed no fear.

“Do it, you little bug. But I swear to God, the Almighty, that every wound will fall back on you, that I will repay you for every single pain. Soon you will be the one in chains."

It wasn't a second before Ivar let out a loud, coarse laugh and pressed the knife even tighter against the Christian's chest; his blue eyes shone and he pressed the blade very gently into the base between the collarbone and breastbone; however, he only scratched the skin very lightly, while the Christian kept no expression.

“You amuse me! It's nice that you still have dreams, even if you are caught in three chains. And I don't have to tell you that I will destroy any dream for you, do I? You Christians are such miserable creatures, really... You won’t do anything. You will beg for death,", Ivar whispered to him, and a hot wave of pleasure shot through his body when he saw the Christian twitch as the knife pressed lightly into the skin one more time. He wanted more. He had to do this _now_...

With a soft gasp, Ivar took the knife between his teeth, the sharp edge turned away, and began with a more than rough and coarse movement to strip off the Christian's armor; the leather was soft and must have been through many fights, but it was easy to remove. When Ivar had thrown away the armor around his chest, what was left was a black linen shirt that bared the Christian's body even more than in the armor; a big lump appeared in Ivar’s throat and he swallowed hard to loosen it, before his fingers caught the waistband of the shirt and tore the shirt in two. The linen was of good quality, but under Ivar’s eager fingers it tore immediately. Ivar couldn't help but gasp as he tore the black fabric from the Christian's body - and he swallowed again when the shirt was completely removed from his body.

Muscles spanned the broad shoulders and pulled over the tight chest; despite some scars that went deep into the flesh, the Christian's upper body was perfect. He had a strong chest, perfectly formed, broad shoulders and shoulder joints, and as Ivar looked deeper, he found a flat, muscled stomach, from the navel of which a small trail of black hair disappeared directly into the waistband. It wasn't as if Ivar was ever interested in men - but seeing this warrior so exposed now, in chains, with many scars from battle, triggered something incredibly exciting in Ivar. He had to lick his lips in excitement before his eyes stopped where he'd expected a slightly sore wound - the stab he'd made yesterday. But when his eyes roamed over the Christian's body and found the wound, it looked treated. Someone had cleaned and treated it; someone had dared to approach this slave in a rather intimate way. For Ivar, cleaning a wound had always been very special, even if it was his own. He loved inflicting wounds on people and slowly igniting them so that the flesh would bulge properly out of the wound. But someone had fooled around here. Ivar felt a bit of heated rage, and he ran his fingers quickly over the wound, pressing lightly on it until he heard a faint hiss from his slave.

Only then did he raise his clear eyes to the Christian and stared at him with slightly parted lips without letting go of the knife with his teeth. The Christian did not return this look; his blue eyes were fixed on the ground in front of him. Only when Ivar took the knife out of his mouth and pressed it against the freshly treated wound, with firm pressure, and pulled the Christian's head closer to him again, only then did their eyes meet again.

Ivar felt the burning between them, pent-up anger and hate - it tingled in all limbs, and made him swallow before he said with a soft whisper: "Who was that?" But the whisper did not sound friendly. Ivar’s mouth twisted slightly, and he pressed the point of the knife deeper into the fresh wound of the slave until he let out a slight gasp.

"I don't know what you mean," the tall man grunted, and Ivar let out a deep laugh. The point of the knife pierced the first, freshly closed barrier of the skin, penetrated it very easily, and his free hand again gripped the slave's neck with a firm grip, pulled him closer until the chain around his neck tightened so tightly again, that the slave's larynx was almost dented.

“You know it exactly. Oh, you will suffer so much for every word you don't say to me, my Christian... You won't tell me your name? Well, fine. You won't tell me the name of the bitch who took care of you? This is treason. And do you know what we do with traitors?”, Ivar breathed and let out an excited gasp; the great Christian did not move, but his eyes spoke volumes.

“I can imagine, I guess. You are as easy to read as a book, you little, useless bast…“, the Christian hissed roughly, and before he could finish the sentence Ivar had stuck the knife in his side again, with a harsh hiss and with so much pressure that the Christian's body immediately contracted convulsively and took away the air to breathe for a moment.

Ivar loved it. The feeling of closeness when the otherwise powerful and extremely stubborn Christian writhed in pain, he loved the gasping breath and the short absence of air; he loved the sweet smell of this man's breath. With a soft gasp, Ivar bit his lip, gripped the knife tighter, and stabbed it in again, with more pressure than before; and he enjoyed the tremor of the muscular body, enjoyed the tingling in his veins when the man took his eyes off Ivar’s for a moment. Warm blood ran out of the wound and a few drops even ran over Ivar’s hand, which was very close to the wound with the handle. Warm, hot blood, and the air filled with the slightly metallic smell - Ivar licked his lips, took a deep breath, and pulled the knife out again with one quick movement. The Christian writhed slightly, but apart from a heavy breathing, no sound came from his stubborn lips, not even when their eyes met again.

With a clang, the knife fell to the floor, and a few drops of warm blood spurted around; but Ivar didn't mind. With his fingertips of the now free hand, he patiently and painfully slowly stroked the Christian's side, traced the traces of the damp blood until he reached the soft curve of the wound. He fixed the Christian's gaze firmly, returning every movement as his fingers lightly and lustfully brushed the wound, taking with them as much blood as they could.

The Christian was doing well, but one could see how painful it must be when Ivar rubbed his fingers into the wound - a twitch in the muscle of his jaw told Ivar that the Christian must be in severe pain, but could hide it skillfully. The two stared at each other, paired with hatred and anger, and Ivar dipped his fingers once again with benevolence and a slightly amused snort into the fresh source of blood before lifting it slightly to eye level.

His fingers were excessively moistened with the rich dark red of Christian blood, and he swallowed hard as he stared at the shimmering color in the light of the candles; the smell was strong, and the whole situation plunged Ivar’s body into a gentle dizziness. The Christian's gaze had gone from anger to disbelief - one could tell so much that he was not used to this kind of playing with blood and that it disgusted him, for the crystal blue of his eyes reflected so much of what Ivar was had wished for him anyway. He loved to provoke, loved to play with his enemies...

And even now he would not let it be taken from him. He ran his bloody fingers over the Christian's cheek, ran over the rough, black stubble, slid down to the base of the heavy scar on his neck; the fine, red trail of blood shimmered so perfectly in that pretty face that Ivar's eyes became foggy. He swallowed hard against the rising tingling sensation, against the violent pleasure that developed in his limbs... It was almost like last night: his fingers seemed to develop a life of their own, misted in the sweet scent of this man. Was he crazy? He knew that he shouldn't play these games with a man, but the whole appearance of this Christian drove him so deeply every time...

With a deliberate movement, Ivar roughly cupped the Christian's chin, and he pressed his face again so close that the clear view almost blurred. The smell of blood clouded him, and he uttered, almost in a whisper: “You see what happens if you don't treat me with due respect? This is just the beginning, and you will learn... We don't like Christians..."

He felt dizzy as he let his fingers slide higher off his chin - they came so incredibly close to the Christian's lips, and shortly before Ivar was gripped by raw curiosity. He really didn't want it, because it was not fitting - but the smell of blood, the taste of the iron of the knife on the tongue, the look of those blue eyes... with a jerky movement Ivar's fingertips brushed over the Christian's lips, brushed over the somewhat rough skin, and coated it with the dark red of the blood. He let out a soft, almost pleading gasp as his fingers rubbed his lips further; the Christian had stiffened strongly under the touch and did not move at all; only the eyes looked at Ivar in disbelief, did not shy away from showing all the disgust that was building up deep inside this man.

Ivar shot the whole situation through the marrow. He couldn't hide an excited and rushing tremor in his fingers, not even when he gently removed his fingers from the slave’s lip and let his gaze slide over it - it looked incredibly wicked, the way the blood stuck on the lips of this man. And suddenly he remembered his dream, the scenes fogged with sandalwood, in which blood had been smeared on lips.

A swallow of Ivar’s throat was almost audible in the quiet room, darting like an arrow through the tense silence that had built up between them. There was absolute calm between them, interrupted only by the Christian's quiet breathing and Ivar's excited exhalation, which mingled with that of the Christian.

A few moments of endless silence in which Ivar struggled hard with himself, had an inner battle - should he really dare to do that? Had he really sunk so low that he should consider getting closer to that filthy slave? He let out another incredibly low gasp when a deep and rough voice suddenly interrupted the silence.

"Dare, you filthy heathen, and I swear to you, I will kill you." It was the Christian who had spoken these words that were like a crack in the silence; but Ivar just put on an amused grin, while his fingers tried to get hold of the Christian’s neck again.

The skin was warm there. Warm and kind of perfect for his hand.

"You can't even scratch yourself anywhere, you stupid Christian.", Ivar replied, and his face bridged the last few millimeters between them, held the slave who leaned back clearly - and then he pressed his slightly open lips very gently and lightly on those of the Christian.

For Ivar it was a moment that nearly felt like he was about to pass out; the blood on the lips was still slightly warm, and it tasted almost as sweet as the first time. And although the Christian had closed his lips tightly and wanted to ward off the kiss at all costs, Ivar took command and pressed his lips a second time on this wonderfully sweet mix of blood and skin, felt an incredibly hot wave in his veins, felt the throbbing excitement sprout through every limb. His fingers clenched the nape of the tall and visibly stiff man; Ivar let out a light breath after the second, light kiss, and bit his full lower lip with pleasure.

He had to stop _now_. It didn't work that way! It showed a lot of weakness to approach a slave like this... He licked off some of the blood that had been transferred to him from the touch of the two lips and almost winced when he tasted the sweet blood on his tongue. The Christian's smell had a firm grip on him, and it took some effort to lean back and meet the Christian's disgusted and shocked look.

A bit of a bad feeling bored into his stomach too - while Ivar had enjoyed these two light kisses, the Christian seemed so upset that he hadn't even returned them. For a tiny second Ivar wondered whether he had gone too far, or whether he was probably kissing badly? But he quickly pushed these thoughts aside. He licked the rest of the blood from his lips and let his slightly shaky fingers slide out of the Christian's neck. The silence between them was burning and Ivar almost dared not look at the Christian. He felt strange, even if his limbs were comfortably limp and warm.

“You see, you can’t do nothing at all... You are worth less than the pig in the barn. Just useless. I'll kill you tomorrow.", Ivar grunted, trying to hide the slight trace of hot blush on his cheeks that had formed there - he had never felt so much oppressive excitement in his body. A tingling sensation reached his loins and he felt something stir between his legs. He turned around in one swift movement, dragging the crutch with him, which he had been tucking under his armpits the whole time to have enough support and both hands free - his legs were difficult to drag along, and he knew exactly that the Christian slave did not escape the trembling of his body.

The chains clinked slightly before a rough voice said: “You will be amazed about what I can do. Your blood will freeze in your veins, and believe me, I will pay you back for this wicked, diabolical behavior."

Ivar stood still with his back to the Christian; his lips formed a full grin, and for a moment the thought crossed his mind what it would be like to let the Christian go, to let him _show_ what he could do... Would he choke Ivar? Perhaps he would press him on the big bed, his heavy upper body over him, and press Ivar’s larynx very gently? Goosebumps shot over Ivar’s body when he thought of this exciting scene when his tingling curiosity about this body got the better of him again - but he just clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“You are a slave and tomorrow you will be dead. Your last joy will be to be fed again today; with a lot of luck... afterwards you will hopefully find yourself joyfully united with your stupid God. Mother will be angry, but I don't care."

"How sweetly you talk about your mother... You are a foolish little boy who will regret his stupid games. As a darling, she's sure to still feed _you_ , won't she?”, the Christian spat bitterly, apparently humiliated by so much closeness between them; Ivar swallowed briefly, although the anger was burned into his limbs like a glowing iron hook - he wasn't mother’s favorite. Not like the Christian dragged it into the mud...

With a furious snort, Ivar looked back over his shoulder, and a sharp tingling sensation ran through his back as he saw the Christian there so chained up without any shirt or armor; muscles tense, blood everywhere. The wound dripped heavily on the floor, and despite the painful tremor, the Christian looked upright and strong. Just like a whole man… Ivar’s gaze flickered briefly over his blood-smeared lips before he said with a low hiss: "At least I am still young enough for fights... Believe me, _old man_ , I am not as young as you think. I've done a lot of bad things in this world."

"Old man?", the Christian hissed angrily, and Ivar grinned slightly and shrugged his shoulders regretfully; he winked at the Christian and then hobbled out of the room so quickly that he couldn't understand what the former warrior was shouting after him.

* * *

Ivar only escaped a slight exhalation as he pressed himself into the back corner of his room - he had crept in as quietly as a fox because he had heard exactly how one of the slaves had sneaked into his room. Making no noise at all, his breath set for a tiny breath, he stayed with his back pressed against the wall in the dark corner where there was no candle - he had even managed to pull his crutch behind him completely silently, with some effort . But it was worth it.

He had a good view of the young slave girl, who had carried a small jug of water, and of his Christian, who hung there still bleeding and chained. For a few moments, the two did not speak a word; without a word the slave dipped a cloth into the jug of water and wringed it out very carefully before she went over the slave's wound.

A harsh hiss filled the room, which Ivar shot through his body like a wave of pleasure - and although an abysmal rage simmered in him when he saw the slave washing _his_ Christian, he could not avert his eyes. Not for a single moment.

“You don't have to do this. He will kill you if he finds out,” the Christian whispered, and the roughness in his voice made Ivar falter; a strange feeling shot through his body, and he leaned the crutch against the wall as quietly as he could. Because with his back pressed against the wall, he had enough support to stand like this. Because he didn't want to ignore this tingling any longer; his hands slid softly and lightly over his stomach while his gaze was fixed on the Christian.

The slave washed again lightly over the wound; her fine hands cared for it gently, and she wasn't too fine to really remove all dirt and blood. The Christian snorted slightly in pain and the slave winced.

“I'm sorry, Heahmund. I have to do this... I can't believe he stabbed the wound again.”, she muttered; Ivar had always wanted her, but she was a fearful slave. And he already knew that tomorrow, she would be found naked in the marketplace with her throat cut, because she had dared to disobey his orders and lay hands on his Christian...

_Heahmund._

Ivar closed his eyes for a moment and kept calling this name to himself; it was strange that even the name left him excited inside, that the very thought of this man tormented him so much...

His right hand found its way into the waistband of his pants and he closed his hand around his stiffening penis. _Nobody_ had ever made it this far. That he suddenly felt bittersweet pleasure where he thought he was _boneless_... He didn't know exactly what to do, but he just let his instincts run wild. His hand grasped his cock, moving slightly up and down, while he opened his eyes again with a soft movement and watched with slightly parted lips as the wet rag ran over and over again on Heahmund’s muscular body.

"He's just a little boy who wants to play... Not the first time I've been tortured," the Christian uttered softly, and Ivar watched closely with increasing pleasure how the Christian grimaced in pain. The slave girl was now washing over the smeared blood on his chin, and Ivar shot a faint trace of venomous jealousy in the limbs. Strange, but something bothered him immensely about the way the little bitch touched his property...

The mix of jealousy and lust made Ivar press his head slightly back against the wooden wall of his room; he could feel his cock getting thicker and wetter, and something immensely large and beautiful was forming in his stomach. He moved his hand further, had to pull himself together violently not to let go of a groan, while he watched with a slightly transfigured look as the slave rubbed the rag over Heahmund’s lips to remove the smeared blood there.

_Heahmund…_

Ivar closed his eyes, could barely hold his body upright; he could hear the slave muttering in a lowered voice that she had something for Heahmund - he didn't know what it was, but he assumed it was something to eat. Because what else did slaves have to steal?

But he couldn't open his eyes anymore, because in front of his inner eye Heahmund pressed him onto the bed and pressed his throat shut, pressed the larynx long and soft with his strong hands, and rubbed his muscular body hard against Ivar's, pressed his plump cock again and again against Ivar's, until they kissed each other fiery and merciless... And Ivar tasted it exactly, he tasted the skin with the blood, tasted the sweet sandalwood that stung his nose so much, and he wanted more of it, _more and more_...and all of a sudden, his body winced violently, and he felt a throbbing, wet feeling, right at the bottom of his body, felt his cock spurt out a whole lot of warm moisture - and he bit his lip so hard he could taste some blood, just so as not to moan and give in to the fierce sensation he'd just felt for the very first time of his life.

* * *


	4. The game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That escalated quickly. :D   
> I was a bit inspired by blood and stuff, so... well, read it. :D I hope you enjoy this little naughty chapter! Thank you so much for all your love! <3

* * *

Ivar smelled it.

He could smell the fine traces of blood in the air, the little wooden structures that hung all over the little hut; they smelled of fresh wood, some of cedar, some of fir trees. His lungs burned splendidly from the scent, and Ivar let out a soft, comforting sigh as he pulled himself over to the seer with his crutches.

The blinded man breathed softly and gasped for air; his violated and deformed head jerked in Ivar’s direction, and when Ivar said nothing more, the seer straightened himself on his bed. He looked crumbling, somehow sluggish - but Ivar didn't care.

"I need your help, seer," Ivar whispered under the cover of the bitter semi-darkness of the hut; when he sat down on a small stool and leaned his crutch on the side of his thigh, the seer whimpered softly to himself. Ivar bit his lip and looked at the holy man as a glow of excitement shot through his limbs.

"What do you ask of me, Ivar the Boneless?"

Ivar shifted excitedly on his stool; he had woken internally this morning with a terrible urge to retaliate, with an insatiable greed for blood. After he still had the exciting images of yesterday in his head, as well as the anger he had felt through jealousy, nothing else could brighten his day. But he had to know a few things. He just _had to_.

“Tell me, seer, what will happen with the slave that mother bought me? Who is this man?"

The seer breathed in and out with a deep gasp; his skin-covered eye sockets glowed black in the darkness of the hut, and although Ivar knew what it was like with the seer, this time the goose bumps over his arms did not let go of him. He watched the seer with glowing eyes as he again tossed over slightly.

“The man you call the slave is not a man to be chained. He is a great warrior, and one day you too will feel his power. His body may be broken, but his mind isn't. Beware of the slave with the cross in his heart, because one day he will steal something important from you.” The seer almost whispered these words, so softly that Ivar had to bend forward slightly to understand the old man better. Excitement shot through his veins, and he couldn't hold back an excited breath.

"What does that mean? What is he stealing from me?”, Ivar asked with a breath and shifted restlessly on the stool again; his limbs were stiff from the tension. He felt the pressure of the knife on the side of his belt, which he had used before dawn this morning.

“He won't steal worldly items from you, but something else that you didn't know you had before. And he'll keep it with him forever until the day he'll die. Besides, he'll snatch you from your roots.", the seer whispered and let out a wheezing, deep cough; Ivar saw the dust and a few droplets flying around through a crack in the light, but he just licked his lips excitedly.

"Please tell me more! I don't understand what that is supposed to be... My roots? I am a god, nobody can take my roots from me!” Ivar grunted tightly; his fingers tightened around the cool wood of the stool, but the seer only lifted his corpse-pale hand out of the semi-darkness and held it out to him.

Ivar hissed softly; he hated it when the seer gave these inaccurate, stupid statements that neither made one smarter nor wiser. It just left one with more questions, and Ivar didn't know how to take those words.

_He would steal something from him?_

Ivar let out a slight snort, then slid to the edge of the stool and licked the seer's palm with his tongue. The palm of the hand tasted salty and smelled slightly rotten; but it did not cause Ivar to retch. On the contrary: he felt a little better than before. Even if the seer's slightly mumbling words had given him no answer.

Maybe the Christian wanted to steal a knife from him and threaten him with it.

Ivar let out a soft snort as he hoisted himself onto his crutch and pulled himself out of the hut with one right leg hanging back slightly; it hurt more today than usual, even if he hadn't slept differently. And while he wandered through the streets of Kattegat, always chewing his lower lip, he kept thinking about the seer's words.

What did they mean? If the Christian slave didn't steal anything worldly from him, what was it then? Did he have to be a little more careful? At first it occurred to Ivar to hire a guard to keep the Christian guarded day and night... but then he would have to stop playing with him. And he didn't want that. No, even goose bumps ran over his skin as he just thought about how it would feel if the Christian would hurt _him_... how the strong hands wrapped around his knife and searched for a soft spot in Ivar's body, and then pressed the tip of the knife very softly into his skin... Maybe accompanied by one or two of the wild kisses Ivar had wanted so badly in his head... mixed with the sweet, warm blood of their connection to pain.

A rush went through his limbs and he had to swallow hard to escape his daytime fantasies; for he could feel how at the thought of the Christian some _certain_ muscles in the body again tensed too much.

But his imagination was interrupted anyway when his brother Ubbe came up to him and nodded roughly to him.

Ivar had always secretly liked Ubbe. There was also a time when Ivar had liked to sleep in Ubbe’s bed at night, pressed close to his brother, and had wanted to hear the nightly, calm heartbeat. There was something so comforting about feeling so much familiar closeness. But those days were long gone, and over the years Ivar had seen Hvitserk turn more and more to Ubbe’s side - how the two had formed a stronger bond than the rest of their brothers. When Ubbe's blue eyes lingered on him, Ivar nodded back and stopped.

"Come with me to the market square, you won't believe what happened." Ubbe whispered and waited patiently until Ivar pulled himself behind him with a slight groan. It didn't take them long to arrive at the lively square, and when the crowd thinned a bit and Ivar pushed through the crowd with Ubbe, he could already see a mane of blond hair from a distance, smeared with dark red blood. Ivar slipped between two tall men who gave way to Ragnar Lothbrok's youngest son when he finally saw the extent of the commotion.

The slave who had washed Heahmund yesterday was naked and half-bled with a huge cut in the throat in the middle of the square. Her hair was almost stuck to the floor with the dried blood, and her blue eyes were wide open, staring at the sky above her. With her mouth open, it could be seen that the young girl was missing her tongue.

Ivar was hot inside with excitement when he saw all the excited and whispering faces around him; knowing full well that he had killed the little whore and dragged her into the marketplace to shut her damn mouth. With a soft sigh, Ivar bit his lower lip and glanced up at Ubbe, who was still staring at the slave's naked body; Ivar couldn't read his expression.

“What a shame, poor thing… Well, one less mouth to feed. Mother didn't like her anyway.”, Ivar mumbled amused and giggled softly when Ubbe looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"You think that's funny?" he asked tense and took another look at the bare body that one of the women was now covering with a blanket.

"A bit. She was a cheap slave, Ubbe, you can find hundreds of them in every town. If you liked her, well... then find a new one. They all spread their legs."

Ubbe ran his fingers through his beard and looked down at Ivar again; he couldn't help but grin diabolically, even when he leaned back on his crutches to get ready to go.

"You don't happen to know when this happened?" Ubbe murmured to him, and Ivar only bared his teeth and shrugged his shoulders.

"Me? No. I'm just a poor cripple, what should I have to do with it?"

He could feel his brother's look on his back for a long time, how that look almost burned a hole in his skin. But Ivar knew Ubbe well enough to know that while his brother suspected it, he would never use it as an accusation. Because Ubbe was far too keen to always keep the peace between the brothers.

But it gave Ivar a more than powerful and uncanny satisfying feeling, full of heated joy that he had eliminated the woman who had dared to lay hands on his slave. Whether it was out of kindness or some stupid code among these cheap sluts, nobody touched _his_ property.

* * *

"Look at this. Freshly washed, the wound cleaned... Hmm, my dear Christian, that won't happen again for the next few days.” Ivar breathed out softly as he reared up on his crutch in front of the Christian, his knife in his hand again. He loved the smell, loved that damn good smell of the Christian's skin, whether it was washed or dirty. The sandalwood note and this oppressive, dark scent simply made it something very special for Ivar’s fine nose.

This time too Ivar sucked in a gush of it before he let the knife wander up and down right in front of the Christian's face, the sparkling glow of pure bloodlust in his eyes. Crystal clear, light blue eyes stared back, and if Ivar was not mistaken, the deeply drawn corners of the Christian's mouth indicated that he was not exactly pleased to see Ivar.

With a soft sigh, Ivar bit his full lower lip with the sharp edge of his pointed canine, while his eyes circled slowly over Heahmund's face - rough lust for this man ran through his limbs, made him boil inside. He only vaguely remembered the previous night, when the sight of the half-naked Christian in interaction with his hand had brought him to a climax.

"You..." the Christian whispered darkly; the corners of his mouth drew further down, and Ivar let out a deep, dark giggle that vibrated as wonderfully in his throat as the knife he was now scratching over the black stubble on the Christian's throat. The blade moved slowly over the skin, and Ivar enjoyed every second the knife pressed softly into the skin.

"You killed her," the Christian spat darkly and returned Ivar’s fiery look in disgust; Ivar just shrugged his shoulders, gripped the knife tighter and ran it painfully slowly over Heahmund’s throat; the larynx barely moved, but he could see the slight tension in the skin. For a moment Ivar took his time to answer; he continued to gently circle the throat before answering softly:

"Yes, I have. So what? She was just a slave. Dirty scum, just like you."

“Then kill me too. I don't feel like playing your damn games anymore..."

"No. You're way too exciting for me to simply kill you... I mean, at least you're chained up, you can barely move, and besides this... Hm, this knife looks so good on you." Ivar purred softly, mumbling like a cat. His fingers did not let go of the knife and he had to swallow as Heahmund moved slightly in his chains and the half-open armor revealed half a glimpse of his tight chest.

Ivar knew that he had actually gone too far. He should let the slave rest, then untie him and send him out into the fields to tend cattle. But this here, this was just too good to be true... A permanent tingling sensation ran through each of his veins, making him heat up and flowing into exactly the right parts of his body. He had never felt so much eroticism and excitement before in his life... It was like a curse. Like a curse of Odin that put him to a severe test. And yet... he vaguely remembered Upssalla. The wild lust. The rough offenses against each other.

Heahmund's light blue eyes were still looking at him, but the gaze had changed slightly. Ivar found curiosity in it, besides disgust and indecision, if only a tiny trace, almost entirely hidden under a thick layer of stubbornness.

“Do it, if you dare. Do you remember when I told you that you will get back everything you do to me? That will happen soon…” the Christian replied. Ivar had meanwhile clamped the knife between his teeth again and was tampering with the Christian's armor; his fingers were strong at completely untying and removing the leather pieces that fortunately could be detached so that the Christian could stay chained. An exhalation passed his lips as the taut chest rose and fell naked in front of him; without taking the knife out of his mouth or straightening the crutch in his armpit, Ivar’s hands ran curiously and easily over the skin. He wanted to hurt the Christian, oh yes... but he also wanted to feel something.

Because this body in front of him was like a poem from old runes, like a soft liaison to himself. His nails scratched his ribs lightly, ran over the freshly cared for wound, which he gently squeezed, and only then did Ivar's eyes slide open again to watch Heahmund's. The Christian had frowned and bared his teeth, but Ivar just let out an amused chuckle.

"What? Never been touched before?”, he said, amused and somewhat incomprehensible; the knife pressed lightly into the corner of his mouth, until he took it out with one free hand and pressed it against the uninjured side of the body, just below the chest. Exactly where, with a little depth, he could injure important parts of the lungs.

The Christian threw himself into the chains, so violently that Ivar almost stabbed the knife into this beautiful body in shock; he just managed to evade and let out a bitter, deep laugh as the Christian eyed him with all the hatred he felt.

"Shut your damn pagan mouth. I am not your slave or anything else! I am a warrior of God, and _dare_... ever dare to lay a hand on me again. Leave your perverted fantasies to you, you monster.", Heahmund grumbled deeply and so damn rough that Ivar felt a heated wave of excitement shoot through his body.

He was so excited, so damn curious about this man... it irritated him down to the blood, deep in his soul. He wanted to own this. _He had to_...

"But, but, my dear Heahmund... We're not going to be cheeky to God Ivar, huh?", Ivar whispered darkly, and he had to gasp when his fingers found the waistband of Heahmund's pants and pushed themselves into it, very playfully and kind of gentle. But Ivar didn't get far; Heahmund threw himself again with such brute force against the rigid power of the chains that they rattled violently and tensed; the knife stabbed into the body all of a sudden, quite deep, and Ivar gasped excitedly - while the Christian let out a slight groan in pain.

"Damn heathen!" he spat at Ivar angrily, and leaned his head back slightly to spit with full force in his face - but Ivar was faster. He tilted his head slightly to one side, put on a wonderful, soft smile, before he stabbed the knife a jerk deeper into the beautiful body.

Blood ran in rivers, moistened the handle of the knife and ran down the Christian's belly in a fine trickle; it was a wonderful sight in Ivar’s eyes - how the blood, without being hindered, made its way deeper and deeper - and how quickly the dripping trail ran into Heahmund's pants.

Ivar did not consider any of his own thoughts to be full, listened to no inner voice warning him, and just moments later, after dropping the knife with a clang, one of his free hands slipped into the Christian's pants. Heahmund couldn't defend himself because the pain and the chains held him in check while Ivar’s hand wrapped itself around Heahmund's still limp cock.

If he was not mistaken, the Christian was very well built; big and thick, and Ivar had to swallow, swallow deeply, and opened his full lips slightly as he put his hand tighter around the penis and began slowly with some soft movements. The blood, which was still running in the fine trickle from Heahmund’s fresh wound, mixed with Ivar’s skin, mixed with the smoother skin of the cock, which Ivar first moved carefully, then a little harder.

The warm moisture of the blood was like an ordeal, like a poem from old times, and Ivar could not help wrapping his other free hand around the neck of the Christian and kissing him hard and unwillingly; his lips were soft, but the urging of them was coarse, wistful, heated. While his hand mixed more violently with the moisture of the warm blood, moving the slowly hardening cock again and again, Ivar gasped, licked his lips while he sought Heahmund’s gaze.

The Christian had tensed his entire body and seemed to be fighting violently against what was happening here - but Ivar didn't give him any space. His teeth glittered slightly, his eyes shone. He opened his full lips slightly and leaned towards the Christian, while the latter gritted his teeth and lifted his head slightly. Pride, Ivar could see so much pride in those eyes - and he knew how much he humiliated the Christian with these things, tortured him inside. Worse than pain...

"You are a damn perverted pig... I will kill you, I swear to you!" the Christian uttered between his clenched teeth; but Ivar saw the little twitch in the corner of his mouth, saw the slight tremor in his jaw, and he gripped the Christian slave's cock harder, moving his hand more firmly. By now the blood had soaked the cock so well that the skin slid back and forth very softly; Ivar couldn't help but moan, because he felt himself getting hard. By all gods, this Christian was such a pleasure... pure pleasure...

"You love it, you just don't want to admit it... you'd like to fuck me, wouldn't you?" Ivar let out a low, dirty giggle from close to the Christian's ear before his full lips opened again and pressed against Heahmund’s mouth again. The Christian tried to close his mouth tightly, but when Ivar’s warm and soft tongue gently touched his lips, they opened very gently. Unwanted, for guaranteed... But this slave was only a man.

Ivar closed his hand more roughly around Heahmund’s cock, moved harder, squeezed the tip, which had meanwhile become so hard, softly; his hand was greedy, as was his mouth. His tongue found his way against Heahmund’s lips again, pushed forward, and with a soft gasp, Ivar- with softening knees - noticed how Heahmund returned the kiss, first cautiously, then suddenly biting hard. Ivar broke the kiss; his hand had clutched the Christian's neck almost spasmodically, his nails scratched his skin; and when their eyes met, the Christian nodded so defiantly that Ivar shot an infinitely hot wave of pleasure into every limb. His cock was hardened to burst - and he got the uncanny, irresistible urge and deep will to just let this strong warrior and slave fuck him properly until he cum, but he couldn't go that far...

His hand moved faster, harder, because he felt the Christian's breathing changed dramatically. Their lips found themselves together again hungry, biting, fighting, brutal, and Ivar felt and heard Heahmund throw himself more into the chains; the closeness was more intoxicating than anything, more than any drug. It wasn't long before the Christian bit firmly into Ivar’s lower lip, let out a groan; the bloody cock in Ivar’s hand twitched.

"Yes ..." Ivar uttered inadvertently, completely detached; he had never, not even in his deepest dreams, felt such a violent excitement. He could already feel his cock throbbing wildly, and he laid his face against the Christian's neck, inhaled the hot scent of the skin there, closed his eyes until he felt Heahmund coming in his slightly trembling hand.

It was like a deep, but good shock going into the marrow that spread throughout Ivar’s entire body. He had to admit in these seconds, that it was a wonderful feeling when this tall and well-built man came in his hand, driven to orgasm by his movements, and he loved and adored every second in which the big cock emptied; smeared with his own blood.

A deep gasp escaped the Christian, and the chains clinked as he leaned back a little more; his eyes were closed and when Ivar carefully took his hand out of his pants, he had a sticky mixture of blood and semen stuck to it that aroused him terribly. Heahmund looked like slaughtered; the blood flow was almost dry, but the body looked like it had been fighting against something over the top. Red welts ran from the waistband to the waist, mixed with the sweet blood, and although the Christian was a strong man, he was extremely pale.

He didn't look at Ivar, and just twitched slightly as Ivar wiped his hand on Heahmund’s pants - it gave him a perverse pleasure. Just the thought that he had lived this moment... Ivar bit his lip, still tasting the sweet kiss on it, the bite mark from Heahmund’s teeth, and he slid with his crutch a little bit away from the Christian. He felt dizzy. Pleasantly dizzy, and he felt so weak and done, as if _he_ had just come under all the blood and movements.

“This time no one will take care of your wound, Christian. You will already notice how painful it will be…”, Ivar whispered softly and glanced at Heahmund; he only opened one eye and did not look at Ivar enthusiastically; nevertheless, he let out a snort, and although his body twitched slightly in pain, he said nothing to it.

"We'll see who laughs last here..." the Christian muttered; the chains clinked softly as he let himself fall back a little.

"What a stupid saying, is it from your stupid book of God?" Ivar whispered, and suppressed another look at the beautiful, bloody body in front of him, the muscles of which were still tense.

He literally forced himself away from Heahmund and just let him hang there, dirty and bloody, only to sit down on his bed with a soft groan behind all the furs and the wooden screens.

The furs made no sound when Ivar sat down on them with a low moan; only when he unbuttoned his leg brace with a slow movement, buckle by buckle, he could no longer resist his inner urge and shouted across the room: "But tomorrow I'll really kill you!"

He bit his full lower lip, listened intently, and an almost happy grin played on his lips when he heard a harsh snort that could only come from a Christian who was too proud for another, provocative answer.

* * *

Ivar woke up with a jerk, breathed heavily and groped in panic on the sides of his body - he had dreamed terribly of blood and agony and drowning; but when he found that there was nothing around him but the biting darkness of the night and the security of his bed, he let himself fall down again with a light exhalation.

For a moment he stared at the hard-to-see ceiling of his room and listened to the sounds of the night; he could hear nothing but owls and the distant howl of a wolf. Not even the slave's chains clinked.

Ivar let out a deep breath, stretched slightly, and ran his fingertips over his lower lip; he had the throbbing feeling as if the burning, hot kiss from before was still sitting there, a kiss that had completely upset and aroused him inside. Never in his entire life had he been kissed so passionately and roughly... It almost bordered on a strange, perverse dependence on this slave, because strangely enough, the thoughts of this slave hardly let go of him. In fact, he almost thought he saw crystal clear eyes in the dark corner that looked at him more than hatefully.

The scent of the sandalwood-scented skin crept over to him like a shadow, making him gasp as he thought of this electrifying closeness, of this burning passion that had kindled today, if only for a few moments... fire. Ivar could feel fire in his body, from hands to toes. For a brief moment he closed his eyes, let this scent come to him even more intensely, and he almost actually smelled it, bittersweet and greedy for more...

The chains still didn't clang, and the smell of blood and sandalwood got stronger, much stronger... in a way, in an incredibly strange way, the smell of that skin got real... _too real_.

“Fuck!”

With a startled gasp, Ivar jerked himself up in bed, gasped for air, and all of a sudden, this air was taken away from him out of nowhere, because a strong forearm pressed tight around his neck and squeezed hard. Just like that, out of nowhere, and Ivar scratched hard on the forearm, trying with all his might to escape this cage of muscle and bone.

_Sandalwood! That damned Christian!_

A deep hiss escaped Ivar, and he continued to scratch the arm with all his strength, before a dark voice close to his ear whispered to him: "I told you I would kill you."

A swallow almost got stuck in his throat as the strong arm tightened more around his throat, taking away the last bit of his air to breathe. His body couldn't even defend itself, without crutches and supports, not when his upper body was out of action.

"You keep your mouth shut, or I have to hurt you very bad.", Heahmund grunted bitterly into his ear, and Ivar let out a choked gasp. The forearm around his throat loosened, but only enough for the heathen to speak a little. But he was still out of breath.

“You don't dare to do that. How did you get away?”, Ivar hissed, feeling with great reluctance how the great warrior pulled him up a little as if he weighed nothing. Just like a doll…

Anger rose in Ivar's veins, crawling up his neck immensely and causing unrestrained heat in him. With a jerk, he tried to free himself from the crushing grip of the Christian, but the Christian just laughed softly. He pulled Ivar to his feet with him, dragged the helpless Viking out of bed. He wasn't wearing his splints...

Violent revulsion entered Ivar’s body, and with another deep hiss he struggled on; he would rather die than go anywhere without his crutches!

"Let me go!" Ivar hissed, choked, but the arm tightened again like a noose. Because Ivar was quite a bit shorter than Heahmund, he was pulled along like a head of cattle; the Christian didn't care for a second how immensely Ivar stood up against him. When it became clear that he was dragging him towards the door, Ivar freaked out completely.

He threw himself at Heahmund with his upper body, tried to bite the Christian firmly on the arm; when the sharp canine teeth roughly pierced the skin, the Christian hissed angrily and with a violent jerk gave Ivar a violent push against the nearest wall. The thrust was so hard that Ivar was breathless for a moment. He felt way too dizzy.

"I need my crutches, you damn, disgusting piece of shit of slave!" Ivar pressed out, panting wildly and as loud and cheeky as he could; but Heahmund’s face came so close, so incredibly close that he was immediately speechless despite all the anger. Blue eyes stared at him and the great Christian breathed deeply. Rough fingers pressed firmly into Ivar’s chin, so hard it hurt his jawbone.

"You don't need anything where you’re going..." Heahmund whispered to him, and before Ivar could utter another word, a heavy blow hit him on the head and made him pass out.

* * *


	5. Silent night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have fun with our two arguing fluffballs! :D <3 I couldn't do any more but let out the little pissed off child in Ivar... ;)

* * *

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed in Ivar’s head; heavy footsteps wading through mud, and he felt gentle movements beneath him, but he couldn't quite identify it yet. For a moment he thought he was out at sea, tied to a mast, like he was once with his father.

His head hurt terribly. A steady, hard throbbing dragged from his temples to his deep, back neck; he felt his mouth open slightly, until he let out a slight sigh of pain.

For a moment the movements that Ivar had mistaken for the high roar at sea came about to stop; but only a few seconds before the movements started again. Ivar’s eyelids fluttered open very slightly and slowly; he could see muddy forest floor, fresh moss and grass, and sturdy black boots encrusted with mud. And a black, leather armor, apparently a strong and broad back... And suddenly he remembered everything that had happened. It struck his bones like boiling hot oil, and all of a sudden, he began to move violently. But he quickly felt that he had no chance: his arms were wrapped in ropes, twisted tightly; he could only twitch his upper body slightly, and he did so with all the strength he had left.

_That cursed Christian!_

“Oh, someone’s waking up. Slept well?“, the Christian uttered with a deep grunt and slightly amused; Ivar hissed angrily at him and tried to make himself some room somehow. But no chance: the Christian had thrown him over one of his strong shoulders, his head back, so that Ivar’s legs dangled limply against the warrior's chest.

A hot wave of anger and nausea spread through Ivar’s body - he was so aggressive and so pent up with hatred that it hit his stomach terribly. For a moment he felt so nauseous that he became very dizzy - and the Christian seemed to notice that something was wrong, because he stopped for a brief moment. Ivar could smell the fresh forest air, and in the bushes, he spotted a few deers who were watching the goings-on with suspicion; but the dizziness and nausea did not go away.

"You're going to let me down IMMEDIATELY and bring me back!" Ivar snapped darkly; he could not see Heahmund's face, but he felt the twitch of his body and heard it exactly: the Christian uttered a deep, amused laugh that echoed slightly in the forest.

"I'll do a shit. You’ll come with me. At some point along the way you will probably die anyway, because I'm already fed up with you.", was the rough answer, and the big, muscular body continued to move. Ivar’s head got very hot with anger; he tried again to free himself by jerking and twitching, but he quickly realized that it was pointless. The Christian had just tied him too tight, and Ivar had to admit that he couldn't find a gap in the plan.

Not by now.

With an annoyed snort, Ivar let his crimson head dangle slightly; he gently tapped the warrior's movements before he said softly, “You won't get far! My men will chase you and my mother will do everything she can to find me. You know, they have fast horses, and they will send the best warriors out after me."

Heahmund laughed again; they went up a slight incline, and Ivar could slightly feel that the Christian was a little shaky on his feet. Of course - the deep flesh wounds he had inflicted on him hadn't grown closed over that night. The Christian had probably been walking all night and it would only be early in the morning, that it would be noticed that the Prince of Kattegat had disappeared without a trace. So, Ivar needed to be patient for a day...

“If you survive, you will come to England with me. There I will throw you in front of the king and you will be hanged. As a nice revenge for what you did to me."

Ivar listened to the Christian's words; and although he was still furious, some rather inappropriate thoughts came to his mind. Images appeared in his mind's eye - images of knives, images of blood. A body that turned in pain and pleasure at the same time, a moan in the bittersweet darkness...

"You won't get that far, you disgusting slave."

"Oh, I will. I'm tougher than you think."

"Your wounds.", Ivar said and snorted; his arms ached terribly from the pressure of the fetters; despite his clothing, the ropes rubbed more against his skin with every movement.

"What wrong with them?" Heahmund replied gloomily; when they reached the small hill, he stopped for a moment; and Ivar knew, even if he couldn’t see, that the Christian was looking around. Because he had no idea where he was.

“They will get infected. And then you'll soon be crawling around on the muddy ground.”, Ivar snarled; he let out a slight hiss as the Christian gave him a hard nudge on the side, and he clutched the man's back firmly with his fingers.

"Stop it! And I'm guaranteed not to crawl around on the ground like an animal. You're already doing that really well."

Anger, hatred, boundless hate. Ivar’s forehead began to pulsate, and he tried again to free himself with a firm jerk, or at least to hurt the Christian a little - but in vain. The tall man just let out an unimpressed grunt when Ivar tried to throw himself against his neck and hissed a rough: "Stop it, damn! Or I'll drown you in the next river."

“You don't dare to do that anyway! You were even too cowardly to kill me directly... you'd rather drag me around like a mule, even if you know for sure that you won't get far so injured.”, Ivar hissed bitterly, but suddenly the Christian stopped.

It wasn't two seconds before Ivar suddenly slid to the hard ground with a soft gasp; his back was pressed into the mud, and for the first time since he passed out, the Christian's crystal eyes fixed on him, furious. The great warrior dropped to his knees, and in one breath, firm hands were wrapped around Ivar’s throat and squeezed hard.

Ivar tried to gasp for air; he panicked and tried to fight back, but so tied up and without his arms he could do nothing, _nothing_ but stare into the eyes of the heavy and tall Christian, to force all his hatred on him, the same hatred that jumped at him.

The hands around his throat squeezed harder; Ivar tried to gasp for air, but to no avail.

“You are listening to me carefully now, you little rat of a pagan! I'm going to take you to England because they pay a heavy price on your head. Just like on the heads of your brothers... and your father. It is a _plan_ that they will follow me, that they want you pathetic creature back! So that I can hand them all over, so that I can finally take my old place in the kingdom again! So that I can get _my old life back_! The life that you and your filthy gang of barbarians took from me! And I won't-hesitate-for-a-second…”; with every forceful squeeze of the throat he took more air from Ivar; the young Viking gasped for air, but the pressure in his head inevitably increased - nausea turned to shortness of breath and sheer panic; "...- to get my place back! And if I have to drag you dirty rat all over the world!” With the last few words the Christian squeezed so hard that Ivar could no longer gasp for air - he could no longer breathe. The bishop's figure slowly blurred in front of his eyes, and the pressure in his head grew so strong that Ivar, in his numb dizziness, noticed a vein bursting in his eye. Reddish welts formed in front of his field of vision, and just as he thought he was going to pass out again, the Christian let go of him with an angry cry.

_Breathe, air_. All Ivar could think of in those moments was air. Suddenly it penetrated his lungs again, which just couldn't expand that far under the pressure of the ropes - but the air came back, slowly, accompanied by his own deep rattle.

It took Ivar a long time to finally think and breathe a little more clearly again; his throat felt battered, raped like a cheap slave. He had to admit that he had clearly underestimated Heahmund's strength… All of a sudden Ivar’s body rose again, was lifted into the air and roughly thrown over the shoulder of the man who had just strangled him almost within seconds. A soft gasping for air escaped Ivar again, and it took him quite a while before he could breathe properly again. The broken vein in his eye bothered him immensely; it clouded his otherwise sharp eyes a little, and he didn't even get a chance to clean his eye or scratch himself because that Christian pig had tied him too tight.

They went on, in silence, until a mild dusk fell over the forest; Ivar didn't think the Christian would really go that far. But when he finally threw Ivar into the dirt under a large oak tree like a wet sack, Ivar saw at once how weak the Christian was. His skin looked pale and dull, and his normally bright eyes looked weak. He was tired.

With a soft groan, Ivar straightened his bound body until he could see and sit reasonably well; the Christian wasted no time and began gathering sticks and branches for a fire while Ivar’s blue eyes were fixed on him like a hungry animal. But he recorded every movement of the warrior in order to evaluate it; the body trembled, apparently overstrained from all the carrying and walking. And his wound was not well taken care of; a light, damp streak on the sides of the dark armor showed Ivar that the wound must have rubbed open while walking around and was now bleeding profusely again. Ivar bit his dirty lower lip as he watched the Christian light a fire with ease - he had probably been in camps many times, had fought.

With a grunt, Heahmund finally sat down on a trunk not far from Ivar and made a slight face; pain, Ivar could watch it closely.

He was silent for a moment; he chewed softly on his lower lip while looking at the Christian through the shadowing darkness - until he looked at him as well.

“Your wound. Like I said... you have to take care of it, otherwise we can bury ourselves right away.”, Ivar said softly; for a moment one could only hear the crackling of the fire, the dry wood in it; then the Christian snorted.

“It's just bleeding a little, that's all. It will pass."

"If you think so," Ivar snarled, trying to find a more comfortable position; but the bonds made it difficult for him to move at all. He had no choice but to press himself against a slight mound of earth, as close to the fire as possible, and just wait. For whatever...

Meanwhile the Christian groaned slightly as he pulled his armor from his body; a faint, barely perceptible gasp escaped him as he took it off, and also pulled his shirt from his body to examine the wound; and Ivar, who was only a hand's breadth away and immediately thought of last night again, had to swallow hard against his emerging feelings. _Oh Odin, what was wrong with him that he kept thinking of the Christian in this way?_ He should think of naked women, yes.

And although Ivar really concentrated, his eyes came back to the Christian's bare torso after a while; he looked at the muscles in the light of the fire, and saw the many scars. He saw the two fresh wounds he'd added and the last one, bleeding - Ivar slid a little deeper into the cave and blinked slightly, cursing his right eye for the broken vein.

Heahmund cleaned the wound roughly with a cloth; the muscles twitched under his skin, indicating the pain the great warrior must feel. Ivar bit his lip hard, so hard that it tasted almost metallic - then, after he couldn't stand the silence anymore, he began to speak again.

“You need royal herb. It grows everywhere here. Otherwise... ", with a slight groan, Ivar nodded at Heahmund’s wound; "...otherwise you will soon have a blood poisoning. Do you see the red welts on your skin? They’re not good."

Heahmund did not look directly at Ivar; the crystal blue eyes traveled down his own body, as if to see with his own eyes that Ivar was right about what he was saying; but then the Christian just snorted and continued cleaning the wound.

"I don't need a cursed witchweed from a pagan," was the bitter answer, and Ivar rolled his eyes in a fit of defiance.

“It just can only be you being that stupid again! Then just die, I don't care! I'll steal your knife and then run away, and you will be eaten by wolves.”, he uttered and felt a surge of heat on his cheeks; Heahmund looked at him and laughed roughly. He put his shirt back on, and although Ivar felt stupid, he wanted to protest for now. He liked the Christian's naked body. It always somehow gave him peace of mind.

“You can't even move properly! And even if you do, you won't make it back to your village with your creeping."

Ivar hissed angrily. "You bet! You'll see, you fucking dirty bastard! I can't wait when you're dying in the mud! I'll piss on your corpse before I go."

"Before you _go_? Or do you mean crawling like a dog?" the Christian replied, amused, and Ivar was boiling up in immense, unbridled anger.

Furious and with a scream, he threw himself with all his might towards Heahmund; the Christian only laughed, however, when Ivar landed face down on the ground and could only seal around furiously.

"Let it be good for today, we have a long way to go tomorrow.", Heahmund said and helped Ivar with a slight movement to press his back against the hollow. Ivar, however, made an angry grimace - his lips trembled with anger, and when Heahmund tried to turn back towards the fire, Ivar spat hard in his face.

The spit landed on the Christian's right cheek; he glanced at Ivar, and then raised one of his dark eyebrows.

“Are you serious now?” he asked roughly, wiping the spit away with the sleeve of his shirt; Ivar tilted his head back a little again, but it didn't take a second before he felt a rough hand and hard fingers squeezing his chin so tightly that it really hurt. Ivar gave a low gasp; Heahmund’s blue eyes stared at him mercilessly.

"Stop doing that. Or you sleep far away from the fire.“, the Christian hissed.

Ivar twisted the corners of his mouth again - but not down. No, they slid gently upwards so that there was a nice, broad smile; and he used exactly the right moment in which Heahmund looked at him slightly perplexed.

"You don't dare to do that anyway." Ivar whispered softly as a cat, and suddenly swung his head back as far as he could, still caught between Heahmund's fingers. And sure enough - he really managed to hit the exact same spot a second time.

"Good," the Christian said curtly.

"... what, hey...!" Ivar called, but too late; Heahmund grabbed him roughly like a sack of flour and dragged him a few yards away into the darkness of the forest. Ivar felt the difference in the cold immediately; the fire had really been wonderfully warm, and only now did he realize how cold it had actually become. So, in front of the fire, with the half-naked Christian in front of his eyes, he hadn't even noticed. Ivar protested loudly, but Heahmund threw him mercilessly on the hard and cold ground.

"You can't leave me here!", Ivar snorted and tried to straighten up; but his body stayed on the ground like a thick maggot. Heahmund just snorted; he completely ignored Ivar’s angry hissing and pulled the cuffs even tighter.

"Think of something hot, you’re always doing that so well." Heahmund said bitterly; he gave Ivar one last look, who glared at him so angrily that it seemed to glow in the night; and then the bold Christian actually went to the fire again and ignored Ivar’s angry roar all night long.

* * *

When Ivar woke up the next morning, he was bitterly cold. He had not yet fully opened his eyes and his senses had not yet fully returned when he heard the Christians working by the fire. It smelled good - if Ivar was not mistaken, it was something with mushrooms.

Despite his stiff limbs, Ivar tried to warm his body a little by rocking a little to and fro; when he let out a slight groan, one could hear the Christian stopped with whatever he was doing there and paused.

"Oh, look at this. The spitting devil has awakened”, the Christian uttered deeply amused; Ivar heard heavy footsteps and in the next instant he was dragged onto his bum; he had to look awful because he felt that way. He could also feel that his beautifully braided hair was completely messed up, and that a little moss and small twigs were caught in it; when Ivar looked angrily at the Christian, he laughed softly.

“You don't have to look at me like that. Sucks being trapped, doesn't it? You could have slept by the fire, but you didn't want to hear."

"I hate you." Ivar snapped; a loud rumble went through his stomach, and Heahmund put on a slight grin; Ivar didn't think it was that funny. He was cold, every single one of his bones hurt terribly, and to make matters worse, he was hungry as a bear. He would have loved to have had alcohol with him to endure at least a little of this insane journey with the Christian; but apparently nothing remained for him but what the Christian had found in the forest.

"You're hungry. We have a long way to go, and if you eat something, I hope you won't go on my nuts as hard as you did yesterday.”, the Christian murmured as he threw Ivar over his broad shoulder again. Ivar could hear the slight gasp, and he also heard the man's lungs making a strange, whistling sound - barely audible, but Ivar didn't miss it. As the Christian dragged him over to the fire, Ivar bit his lip and started thinking. He wasn't sure what it was, but he was pretty sure they wouldn't get to the next town like this. Heahmund could deny it as long as he wanted - but Ivar had seen the red welts that had drawn down the man's muscular body. And his lungs didn't sound good either... Sure, he hated him. He had already hated it when he saw it at the market... However, the Christian was only right about one thing: Ivar wouldn't make it all the way back without his crutch.

His fingers were just getting hold of a strap on Heahmund’s armor when the latter just let the young Viking down again. Ivar sagged down slowly and whimpered slightly as his buttocks hit the ground - his bones burned from the night on the hard forest ground. He hadn't slept on hard floors in years and his back was driving him crazy.

"Where did you get the bowl from?" Ivar asked grimly as he looked at the fireplace and saw the small bowl with mushrooms and water on it - apparently the Christian had fetched water and gathered herbs early on.

Heahmund said nothing at first; he stirred the bowl for a while until he took it from the fire and handed it to Ivar. Ivar hesitated: maybe it was poisoned. What did he know what herbs the Christian had gathered during his sleep?

Ivar eyed the bowl suspiciously, and although it smelled really delicious, he pushed the bowl away.

"I'm not hungry," he muttered, and as if to punish himself, his stomach rumbled incredibly loud at the same time. Heahmund said nothing at first; he stared at Ivar for a moment, while Ivar just stared angrily into the fire. The fact that his cheeks got a trace of dark red he ignored as hard as the growl of his stomach.

"It's not poisoned," Heahmund said softly. He took the bowl and showed it to Ivar by taking a sip from it; Ivar snorted loudly.

“Maybe it's a Christian brew. Besides, there is no meat in it. I need meat.”, Ivar muttered grimly and raised his blue eyes to Heahmund; the latter's mouth opened slightly, then closed again, and he let out a deep snarl before answering.

"You cannot be serious! Do you really think I'll go hunting in peace so that the damn prince will get his fucking meat? Listen, I'm even so nice that I give you something to eat at all, and you little rat have nothing else to say than..."

"YOU have kidnapped me! So _you_ have to take care of me if I'm not supposed to die.”, Ivar snapped angrily; the shackles were still squeezing his nerves, and to make matters worse, his bladder was still squeezing. He tried to inhale and exhale as deeply as possible before straightening himself a little with furrowed eyebrows.

Heahmund stared at him for a few moments; he still held the bowl in his hands, but after Ivar had hissed his sentences, he shrugged his broad shoulders and emptied the bowl in a few gulps. Ivar’s brow furrowed; his anger inside had grown immensely, but he tried hard to hide it under a stubborn mask. Even if it was damn hard for him...

"I have to piss," he said roughly, and Heahmund threw the bowl away.

“Damn it, you are worse than any child! Maybe I should kill you right now and drag your dead body with me. So that at least your brothers will follow us and believe that you are still alive! Then at least I'll have my goddamned peace!”, Heahmund hissed; he let out a deep grunt and stood up. Ivar followed his body with his eyes, stared at the Christian before he said quietly: “If you don't want me to piss on your shoulder, you have to let me go. And believe me, which variant you take, I don't care at all."

Heahmund rolled his eyes; he seemed to hesitate and consider for a moment, but then walked heavily towards Ivar and took a knife from his back-belt pouch. Ivar watched closely as the Christian pulled out the knife; his slightly clouded eyes never missed a second.

With an annoyed sigh, the Christian cut the ropes a little; when some of them came off, he took the rest of them off and nodded in the direction of a large tree: "You can go... _crawl_ over there. Stay in sight or I'll make your other eye turn red too."

Anger _, anger_ and immense hatred rose in Ivar - he had to admit that the Christian was as quick and cheeky to answer as he was; his hands trembled slightly when he finally set them down on the soft forest floor, and he gave Heahmund a disparaging look.

"I'm definitely not going to get my cock out in front of your eyes." Ivar growled and pulled himself towards the tree; behind him, Heahmund snorted in amusement.

“Believe me, I'm not very keen to see any of your nakedness. I'm not as perverted as you are."

"Pervert?" Ivar snapped; he crawled behind the thick tree trunk and began to open his trousers with great difficulty. His fingers were still feeling a little numb from the night on the hard floor, and he gasped softly when he'd finally made it.

"Yes, perverted. Who would jerk off another man with blood?” was the angry reply; Ivar, who was just starting to pee, chuckled to himself. Ah, he remembered that lustful night. It had been an ordeal, a playful game that, despite all the anger, still sat deep in his loins.

“If you were so disgusted, why did you cum? And above all, why did you kiss me then?”, Ivar snarled amused; his fingers closed the waistband of his trousers and he leaned his head against the thick bark of the tree; amused, he chewed his lower, full lip while he heard Heahmund rummage at the fire.

“I was forced to, don’t you think so? Since I had a knife in my body, huh? Nobody would fight back in that position."

"Ah, my good Christian... I know lust."

"Oh yes, you must have _certainly_ gained _a lot_ of experience."

Ivar snorted angrily; he recognized the derisive undertone in Heahmund’s voice immediately. His fingers clawed furiously into the moss below, and he closed his eyes for a moment as the anger rushed through his body. He had two options, if he got it right: he could try to escape, or he could kill the Christian in his sleep. He just had to get a little further to the next town... When Ivar opened his eyes again and stared into the vastness of the wildly overgrown forest, he considered simply crawling away - but the Christian was still too strong. He would catch up with Ivar in seconds.

The only chance he had was to wait for the infected wounds on the Christian's body to take revenge.

With a low groan, Ivar retreated to where they had been the night; the Christian had put out the fire and buried all the logs. When he saw Ivar, he looked down at him. Ivar returned the look, slightly angry; then he nodded.

"I will hardly be able to jump on your back," he muttered, and Heahmund rolled his eyes. With a mechanical movement he began to tie Ivar back on, but this time he only tied his hands; still, firm enough that the Viking could barely move.

"I should have killed you, you goddamn devil."

"Maybe."

When his body was thrown over Heahmund’s strong shoulder again, he prayed to Odin that he would weaken the Christian's body quickly. Because Ivar hated being so dependent on someone more than anything. The growl of his stomach drowned out his inner prayers, and Heahmund let out a snort.

"Next time I'll fucking push the food in your damn mouth, heathen."

* * *


	6. The twofaced heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so so much for your feedback! <3 It always means so much to me, and always motivates me to keep going although there is so much trouble going on right now.   
> Have a nice Sunday and stay healthy! :)

* * *

They walked most of the day; it was dark and late when Heahmund finally lifted Ivar off his shoulder and lowered the heathen down to the ground with a groan. Ivar sniffed softly; although he didn't have to walk, the day had been more than exhausting, bone-sapping. The Christian's shoulder had felt hard against his stomach at one point, and although Ivar had asked him to rest several times, the Christian had remained stubborn. They had only stopped to take a sip and eat some of the mushrooms Heahmund had found in the deep root of a tree. But when the bitterly cold and silent night threw itself over them, only accompanied by the gentle sounds of many owls, Ivar felt how bad mood and anger crept through his marrow.

He had actually expected that his people would find him quickly, or that at least a person would cross their path - but they were alone. Not once had they seen any sign of a human or a troop approaching. Especially the fact that his normally gifted mother could not see where Ivar was, irritated him down to the blood and made his pale forehead furrowed.

With a soft movement he pulled his body up to a tree trunk so that he could lean his back against it; then, with a deliberate movement, he moved his hands to his legs and gently stroked the hated, deformed bones that could easily be felt through the fabric of his pants.

Heahmund had quickly made a fire; when Ivar saw the Christian staring at him after sitting next to him, he clicked his tongue. The Christian had kindly removed his bonds, probably thinking that Ivar couldn't run away anyway.

"What are you staring at?" Ivar hissed at him roughly; his features darkened, but Heahmund did not look away. Rather the opposite – his eyes brushed over Ivar’s legs, from tiptoe to his face; Ivar’s angry and hate-eaten expression didn’t seem to bother him.

"Do you even feel anything in your legs?" the Christian asked softly; the fire crackled softly in the background, warming their frozen bones well. Ivar met the Christian's gaze for a moment before answering with a soft sigh.

"Yes, of course. What a stupid question."

“You really shouldn't be surprised that people don't like to talk to you. You're always angry and damn unfriendly.", Heahmund replied; he passed some more of the mushrooms over to Ivar, and this time Ivar accepted them. He could feel his body weakening, and he needed every available source of food now more than ever. He didn't want to become the Christian's toy.

"Unfriendly? Well, it could be because you _fucking kidnapped me_ and were trying to kill me. Besides, you just feed me gross mushrooms. They don't fill me up."

Heahmund let out a slight snort that nevertheless sounded slightly like a soft laugh; he folded his hands over his knees and pulled them closer to him, while his gaze was now fixed on the fire. “I haven't seen an animal that I could have hunted. Believe me, I also want some real food,” he said softly.

Ivar lifted his head slightly and looked at Heahmund in the glow of the fire; strangely enough, he looked stronger today than yesterday, which made him think. It was not quite amazing that the Christian did not show any signs of fever, nor did he develop the chills. Maybe he had underestimated his strength after all, who knew...

"For once, we long for the same things," Ivar snarled; he warmed his hands by the fire and listened to the sounds of the forest, listened to the wind blowing gently over the treetops. It was much cooler than yesterday. With a somewhat awkward movement, Ivar pulled his cloak tighter around the body that Heahmund had given him today.

His broken vein in his eye still bothered him immensely. Fortunately, only one eye was affected.

"Do you think kidnapping me was a clever plan?" Ivar said slowly; his eyes returned to Heahmund, who was still sitting slightly crouched in front of the fire; bright eyes met his, and for a moment Ivar's chest warmed a little. _Those eyes_ , he thought. They had a really strange shimmer, depending on how the light fell.

After a short silence, Heahmund mumbled, “We’ll see. You forget that I can still kill you anytime I want."

Ivar snorted. “You would miss me. Who else are you going to watch while pissing?"

Heahmund rolled his eyes; but Ivar could see exactly in the light of the fire how the corners of the Christian's mouth bared a soft grin.

"Of course, I can't think of anything more beautiful," Heahmund replied, and then sat closer to Ivar. Ivar could see the bonds in his hands; he flinched slightly when Heahmund tried to put them around his wrists.

"Please don't." Ivar said softly; Heahmund raised an eyebrow, but then looped the thick rope around Ivar‘s slightly torn wrists. Ivar hissed roughly; his mood, which was just getting better, immediately plummeted again.

"I don't trust you." was Heahmund’s short answer, and he let go of Ivar’s hands after tying them up. "We have to sleep now."

"Tss. As if I could sleep with those damn things on! You’re such a son of a whore!”, Ivar hissed violently, but Heahmund seemed to be too tired for an argument because he just grinned slightly and turned away from Ivar to find a suitable place to sleep near the fire.

He was about three feet away from Ivar; Ivar, still unable to grasp his unbelievable bad luck, rolled his eyes in a fit of anger and let out a snort; he too shifted a little and finally found a position in which at least his arms would not die. With the rustling of the wind and the faint crackling of the fire in his ear, he soon fell asleep.

* * *

He woke up in the middle of the night because the fire had gone out - freezing cold covered him and his body trembled terribly. With a shaky movement, he lifted his head slightly; it was pitch dark, and only through the soft moonlight he could see Heahmund’s figure next to him, deep and fast asleep.

How could the damn Christian sleep in this ice-cold temperature? And he, _a tough Viking_ , lay here trembling and like a pile of misery in the dirt?

Ivar thought about it for a long time. He almost bit his full lower lip so hard that it got destroyed, as his thoughts raced wildly - but the will to survive without frozen limbs that would only make him more crippled, won in the end. He felt anger and shame crouch in himself, but also thought of the many times he had stuck the knife deep into the Christian's body - thought of the fire these gestures had sparked in him, and he thought of the waves of lust that had shot through his body. He thought of his excitement, of his lust, of his hard cock, because he would have loved it so much to be touched. Remembered the Christian's stiff cock, covered in blood, and the moaning when he had come...

Ivar’s elbows landed in the dirt next to Heahmund’s face; he had pulled his body over to the Christian as best as he could, and on closer inspection he also looked a bit pale. But he didn't shiver, and Ivar immediately felt that he was radiantly warm.

"He, Christian." Ivar whispered softly in the shadow of the night; he waited a moment, but when the Christian didn't move, Ivar nudged him gently with his shoulder.

It didn't take a second for the light blue eyes to widen and to stare at Ivar in horror; it took him a moment to realize what had happened - but when he saw Ivar so close, his brows furrowed.

"What the hell ...?" the Christian uttered, but Ivar put a finger onto his lips; he listened to the forest for fear that voracious wolves might approach them. Only when he heard nothing more than the soft crickets, did he look at the Christian again.

"I'm cold. The fire is out."

Heahmund raised an eyebrow; he looked perplexed at Ivar, then opened his mouth slightly.

Ivar snorted. "Fire is out? I'm cold? Is there something ringing? You have to warm me."

Heahmund laughed softly; his bright eyes darkened. “No way, forget it. You can better freeze to death."

"Listen, I'll behave, alright? Just don't let me freeze.", Ivar said angrily; he didn't know what was speaking out of him, whether it was hunger, thirst or those strange mushrooms - but just now, he didn't care that he seemed weak. All that mattered was that he was and would stay alive. And there was no way he wanted to freeze to death.

Heahmund seemed to think about it seriously for a moment; only when Ivar’s lower lip began to quiver, did he roll his eyes and snort deeply. "When you’re silent then… But keep your perverted hands with you, did you hear?"

Ivar slipped close to the Christian; he pressed his front against Heahmund’s so that they were stomach to stomach; the Christian grimaced, but in the end, he put an arm around Ivar’s middle.

"And shut your goddamned heathen mouth, okay?" he muttered. Ivar considered; it costed him more than strength not to become insolent now, and even more strength to control his unbridled anger and insubordination. But when Heahmund closed his eyes again, Ivar also lowered his head and pressed it close to the place that lay between Heahmund’s neck and armor. He took a deep breath, inhaling as much of the fantastic scent as he could. He felt dizzy; but the warmth of the strong body near his was so beneficial that he soon fell into a deep sleep.

A few hours later he suddenly woke up, because an immense heat boiled over his body. It shot through his body like hot waves, and he felt feverish and sweaty; and something else burned deep inside him, literally explored him. It was rough, unbridled and violent lust that grabbed him from zero to one hundred and had him firmly under control.

A soft gasp escaped his still slightly trembling lips when suddenly and without any further words he ran his tied hands to Heahmund’s face; the Christian woke up at once and hissed roughly; his hands roughly cupped Ivar’s, but Ivar just whimpered and pressed himself closer to Heahmund.

“What are you doing there?” Heahmund snapped roughly; his hands held Ivar’s so tight it hurt, but that only fueled the fire in Ivar. He pushed his face up with all the strength he had, bridged the last millimeters between them and pressed his slightly parted lips to Heahmund’s mouth, accompanied by a warm sigh.

Seconds passed while Ivar kept moving his lips on Heahmund’s mouth; the Christian had stiffened, was still holding Ivar in bay, but after a while and with a low gasp he returned the soft and lustful pressure that Ivar exerted. Ivar began to tremble; he was dizzy and still as warm as if he were lying in the middle of the warmest sunshine in summer. His body, however, had a life of its own; he pressed hard against Heahmund, his lips searched for more and more touches, and he pushed his tongue softly and gently into Heahmund’s mouth. Heahmund hissed roughly; a strong hand grabbed Ivar by the neck, and the kisses became stronger, more exciting, more pleasurable. Heahmund’s fingers lightly reached into the base of Ivar’s hair on the back of his neck; he pulled it lightly so that their lips parted and looked at the heathen with a coarse twinkle of lust in his eyes.

"You're sweating and glowing," Heahmund uttered hoarsely; it was more of a pragmatic statement than out of worry, and Ivar whimpered slightly again; Heahmund took a moment to look at the full lips, before they again pressed hard against each other and kissed roughly.

And Ivar wanted it. He wanted it so bad, every fiber in his body screamed for Heahmund, screamed for his hard cock, although he didn't know that side of himself. Each kiss stung more on his skin, and with a gentle movement Ivar pulled away.

"Take off my bonds, I want to touch you," he gasped; Heahmund raised an eyebrow and suddenly cupped Ivar’s body; with a rough movement and a slight moan, Ivar landed with his back on the ground, while Heahmund pushed his head under his bonds and laid his strong and muscular body on Ivar, pressing his hips between Ivar's legs, while Ivar's arms still lingered tied up on Heahmund's neck. There was nothing he could do but feel the massive pressure of this wonderfully warm body above himself and let go of a low moan while the Christian's hands unbuttoned his armor.

And Ivar loved it, damn it, he loved the stubbornness of the Christian to ignore his request completely, he loved his tied up hands that were like a cage around Heahmund’s neck and looked like a hard hug; and he loved every touch Heahmund made him feel.

His eyes rolled back slightly in his head when he felt Heahmund’s fingers on his stomach; the Christian let out a slight gasp as he exposed the soft and heated skin there, while Ivar swallowed gently in excitement.

"You're more feverish than hell, sure you're okay?" Heahmund uttered; the Christian's fingers fumbled with Ivar’s buttons on his trousers, opened them hastily, and for the first time in his life Ivar was no longer ashamed of it, because he knew that only the Christian could accomplish what so many had failed. Because already now, Ivar felt his own hard and dripping cock more clearly than ever before; _they actually were about to do it_. Without shackles (well, halfway), without blood, without a knife. Even if Ivar sorely missed the blood on his lips.

Ivar’s response was a slight groan as the Christian's hand gripped his cock; a real shock went through his limbs when he felt the unbelievable pressure of this hand, how it moved up and down on his cock, and made him even more feverish and hotter than he already was. He could feel Heahmund’s mouth on his neck; lips kissed his skin there, he bit lightly into the tendons of his neck, and a curious tongue licked his heated flesh, making him tremble with pleasure. The stubble of beard scratched the skin soothingly, burning slightly as Heahmund moved his head lower and kissed the roots of his collarbone - Ivar swallowed hard again, pressed his fingers deeper into the skin of Heahmund's neck, and moved his hips as best he could to the rhythm of the warm hand that encircled his dripping cock.

Another groan escaped him, and he felt that he wouldn't be able to hold on like this for long; but a soft, pressed “Heahmund!” helped. The Christian loosened his hand from his cock, pulled himself out of Ivar’s forced embrace and hastily began to unbutton his own pants and pull them down, while Ivar’s eyes slid between his legs full of lust and longing. He had suspected it before, but now he knew - Heahmund had a big cock. A big, thick cock that was as hard as Ivar’s own; although only the light of the moon was shining, Ivar could see it clearly, and it caused a violent surge of pleasure in him. Heahmund wasted no time; his rough hands pulled Ivar’s pants down as well, baring his bare and crooked legs, but when Ivar’s cheeks were blushed with intense shame, he noticed in the same breath that Heahmund was not interested in his legs; it was rather what lay between them.

The great Christian bent down to Ivar with a slight gasp; the bright eyes gave him a piercing look while one hand slipped between Ivar’s legs like a warm snake; Ivar’s body twitched slightly when he felt a finger deep down, deep at his most intimate entrance. The finger touched him gently, then entered him lightly, while Ivar threw his head back slightly with a detached moan. He didn't know whether it was the sweat or his unrestrained, internal heat, but Ivar sensed just like Heahmund apparently that...

"Damn it, why are you so wet..." the Christian whispered so darkly that the deep vibration of his voice gave Ivar goose bumps all over his skin. He lifted his head slightly and looked for Heahmund’s lips; the Christian bent his face down to him, and they kissed deeply and fiercely again, while a second finger penetrated Ivar and elicited a violent groan that was drowned in a wild kiss with a lot of fiery tongue.

The fingers moved rhythmically, penetrating playfully, sometimes deeper and sometimes less, and Ivar writhed under his agonizingly building pleasure. He was still so hot inside that his body felt like a hot log of fire; when Heahmund went down with a groan on his neck, caressed his skin again and smelled roughly at it, Ivar couldn't take it anymore, he was so afraid to come too early without feeling this thick cock inside him.

"Heahmund, _please_..." he whimpered, and he felt the Christian's shoulders stiffen. The fingers slipped out of him and the Christian turned completely over Ivar’s body without another word; his hips pressed between his splayed legs, and again Ivar’s tied hands wrapped around his broad and strong shoulders like an embrace. The bright eyes above him looked at him full of unbridled, wild lust, because they were all alone in nature and no one would hear them. Ivar only nodded slightly, and it didn't take a second for the hard tip of Heahmund’s cock to press into him.

It hurt, and how much it hurt. A hot, almost tearing pain ran through Ivar’s body as Heahmund’s hard cock pushed its way into him up to the base; Ivar let out a heavy breath, and he felt fuller than ever before. It was a searing, in some way deeply satisfying feeling - his nails clawed into Heahmund's armor, seeking a hold in one of the welts before the Christian pulled back slightly and then entered him again with one strong movement, his hips snapping hard against Ivar's. Ivar groaned; he had closed his eyes tightly, sank into the smell of the heated Christian who had meanwhile pressed his forehead against Ivar’s and continued with the rather hard thrusts.

The fire, which was already blazing in Ivar’s body, was kindled many times over as Heahmund’s cock moved further and further inside him, in and out, faster and deeper. The pain from the first penetration passed quickly, leaving Ivar’s innards seething and boiling with pleasure. With a soft gasp he looked for Heahmund’s lips, found them, bit into them; the soft and wet sound of their connection, coupled with the low moaning, was all that could be heard in those moments - even the night birds had become silent.

Ivar loved every second of what they were doing here. He loved how hard and merciless Heahmund moved inside him - he certainly packed some of his pent-up anger into the sex - he loved the way Heahmund began to tremble with pleasure, how the tough Christian warrior and man tensed his muscles while penetrating Ivar over and over again. He loved the sounds, the burning kisses, the intense passion that had suddenly developed between them.

His fingers tightened when Heahmund suddenly made a particularly deep thrust and touched something in Ivar that suddenly and violently made him falter. Heahmund had touched something slightly swollen deep inside him, and Ivar had suddenly felt a violent pull in his body - a wonderful, almost indescribable pull that was like an orgasm - only much, much more intense.

Heahmund sensed that something was wrong; he paused for a moment, found Ivar’s gaze. And when Ivar opened his eyes and stared at Heahmund in disbelief and with pure, raw lust, the great Christian resumed the thrusts without any further words, only this time he thrusted over and over again in the same spot that had Ivar just made stalled.

For a moment Ivar's breath stopped; his heart began to race and despite his hands were tied up, he felt as if he could no longer hold himself up to something.

His fingers tried in vain for a hold, but when Heahmund propped himself up with his hands on the ground and automatically pulled Ivar a little higher, the hands slipped as if by themselves into the Christian's hot neck and lingered there.

And all Ivar could do was tilting his head back and moan; he moaned deep and loud and from the deepest throat, because his body no longer obeyed him and the sheer increase to the climax no longer stopped. It was an incredible feeling to keep feeling the Christian's cock in this wonderful place, and it wasn't long before Ivar gasped violently, his back arched, and all his thoughts were obliterated. He came.

It was the most violent orgasm he had ever felt. It was like a feverish dream, because his body was on fire with every new wave of the orgasm, he trembled and shook with every hard thrust of the Christian. Ivar became blind to everything - blind for taste, blind for sound, blind for pain; all he felt was the wetness on his stomach, his own hot sperm and the endless waves of his orgasm. He didn't even feel that Heahmund came hard as well; the Christian drove himself to climax through Ivar’s twitching and trembling muscles, emptied his shaft deep inside Ivar - with a low gasp, Ivar noticed that he was spilling against the slightly swollen area inside him - and then slumped slightly down on the heathen.

It took a while for their orgasms to subside. Their bodies breathed in a violent rhythm, and Ivar was no longer the only one being hot and sweaty. He could feel the heartbeat of the Christian on his chest, and after a while he could perceive the slight scent of sandalwood again, even if only finely in his pointed nose. It took his body a long time to regain all of its senses.

The moon continued to shine so beautifully, and the wind kept rustling just as cheerfully. After a while Heahmund broke away from Ivar; at first, they didn't say a word. Ivar bit his lip as Heahmund took off his bonds with a silent gesture; so, Ivar could at least pull up his pants on his own again, albeit a little awkward and not as easy as Heahmund, who just got up and put his on again. Only when Ivar closed the many buckles of his armor, did Heahmund lie down next to him on his back and stared into the endless expanse of the sky.

It took Ivar a moment to finish; but then he lay down next to Heahmund as well and stared up into the endless expanse of stars. Some sparkled particularly beautifully that night; Ivar could see a particularly large star and parted his lips slightly, because he suddenly felt strangely heavy around his chest. This heaviness pushed his entire chest down, and yet he couldn't place this strangely heavy melancholy. The crickets chirped softly in the background, and when Heahmund took a deep breath, Ivar closed his eyes for a moment.

The cool night air was good for his lungs, and he took a just as deep breath like Heahmund. When he opened his eyes again, he saw from the corner of his eyes that Heahmund had turned his head towards him. Ivar turned his head in one slow motion as well, and the two looked at each other in the moonlit darkness.

"This stays between us," Heahmund said roughly; Ivar rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue roughly.

"Of course. Do you think I want anyone to know that a dirty Christian slave fucked me?"

"I'm not a slave," Heahmund replied quietly; Ivar eyed him, eyed the stubborn and deep light blue of the eyes, eyed the slightly narrowed eyebrows; a beautiful face. A manly face so full of strength.

And yet Ivar thought he saw a little warmth, even if it was certainly hidden deep under the Christian's tense facial features.

Ivar just snorted in amusement and turned his face back to the stars; he could feel Heahmund's gaze on him for a long time, before the warrior turned around with a rustling movement so that his back was turned to Ivar. But unlike Heahmund, Ivar was unable to sleep for a long time; only when the first, soft tints of violet appeared in the sky, did he turn his face to Heahmund and slide a little closer to him, because he was getting a little colder again.

But before his eyes closed again, the seer's words came back to his mind - the Christian was not someone who could be tied up. He would tear him from his roots, which he had really done - but what in Odin's name was the Christian trying to steal from him? His home? His life? His eyesight? Ivar bit his lower lip gently and chewed it softly as he went over all the things that came to his mind; but he couldn't come up with a solution.

* * *

The next morning broke so suddenly that Ivar immediately got in a bad mood again. His limbs ached from the hard and cold ground, and his most intimate part burned terribly from yesterday's sex; with a pained expression, Ivar pulled himself into a sitting position while the Christian was already on his feet.

“We don't have to walk that long today - if I've got it right, there is a village a little way from here. We can also get food there."

"Hm.", Ivar made unimpressed and massaged his slightly damaged thighs; with a slight blush on his cheeks, he found that they were also hurting slightly because the Christian had spread them so apart. Ivar got goosebumps when he thought of the bittersweet feelings the Christian had triggered in him. It hurt a little that they pretended that nothing had happened. At least so did the Christian - even if his features looked incredibly dull and somehow pale.

"It's really not far," the Christian said; he gave Ivar a mischievous grin, and although Ivar didn't reply it, he felt his heart beating a little harder against his chest. _Stupid heart_ , he thought, and sat down against the tree with a frown forehead. He didn't like being tossed over his shoulder like a sack of flour for another day, and that by the man who pretended they hadn't shared their wildest and deepest feelings yesterday.

_But what did he expect?_

Ivar tried to breathe a little more easily because his heart was beating up to his throat; he watched Heahmund with his grim expression as he lightly filled up the fireplace with some dirt and tightened his armor; when he turned to Ivar, his forehead was sweaty.

"We should ..." the Christian began, and then, out of nowhere and all of a sudden, his eyes rolled back into his head and he simply fell over with a thud. Ivar just stared at him for a moment, startled; he didn't know if the Christian was just fooling him; he waited a moment, and uttered a soft: "Very funny, Heahmund!"

However, when the Christian did not move, Ivar straightened his body and hastily began to crawl towards Heahmund. When he had reached the spot with some difficulty, he slapped Heahmund carefully in the face with his right hand, several times - but the Christian did not move. Ivar parted his lips in alarm and quickly pressed his head to the Christian's chest; he was still breathing. But his body seemed to glow, seemed to literally burn underneath Ivar’s fingers.

With one hasty movement, Ivar tore the buckles on Heahmund’s armor open and pulled up his black shirt; and he was almost startled when he saw the thick, red welts that pulled up almost to his heart. Ivar knew it - as soon as the red welts reached the heart, he would die.

Panicked, his fingers continued to follow to the Christian's side, and he pushed his shirt up to see the wound from which the welts emanated - it was festering and had a thick, red, warm border around it.

"Fuck." Ivar mumbled softly; his mind raced. Sure, he'd wished it would come to this - but not in the middle of nowhere! He didn't have crutches, he didn't have water, he didn't even have those damn mushrooms. Ivar looked around in panic; they were in the middle of the forest, but there was tall grass here and a few bushes to be found. He pondered feverishly what to do next.

It was the one and only opportunity to leave the Christian and let him die. He could crawl in the direction they'd come from - but how long would it take? And how long would it be before his people found him? And who guaranteed that he would get that far?

Ivar bit his lip with a slight whimper and begged the gods to give him a sign - what should he do? What was right? He hated the Christian, he _hated_ him so much, he was nothing more than a filthy slave. He had hurt him, humiliated him, insulted him.

A big lump formed in Ivar’s throat, and for a moment he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Endless seconds seemed to dawn in which he just breathed - and felt his heart, which was torn between hatred and something Ivar could not assign.

When he opened his eyes very slightly and softly, he suddenly saw something between the tall grass a few hundred meters away that shimmered suspiciously dark blue. He let out a soft gasp, glanced at the passed out Heahmund, and then back at the plants; could it be royal herb?

"Oh, damn it." Ivar let out angrily, and with a groan he pushed himself off the ground and began to pull himself hastily towards the tall grass.

He would never forgive himself for this; and even as he pulled himself through the dirt of the ground to the place, it flickered in his head, whether the Christian was not stealing his brutality and mercilessness.

* * *


	7. The Thief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see, haha. :)  
> I hope that you still enjoy this chapter, really! <3 Have a wonderful day!

* * *

It had not been easy to drag himself over to the herbs with aching legs and throbbing body - and yet Ivar had made it in an astonishingly short time. As his fingers gently ran over the little herbs, he began to think feverishly. How much would he need? He wanted to bite his tongue for not listening to his mother enough back then. She had once explained to him how much herbs to use for which injury. Because an overdose was just as dangerous as an underdose, because in both cases the people you tried to help could die.

With a light bite on his lower lip, Ivar glanced back at Heahmund, then back at the herbs. Since he didn't know how much time he had left, he simply tore out a large tuft and crawled back over to the Christian's body, the herbs in his hand, who was still pale, passed out and sweaty on the ground.

“That's what you get for not listening to me. Are you happy now? If I give you too much or too little now, that's it for you. You're such a damn stupid Christian.", Ivar grumbled to Heahmund at the unconscious body; he felt a bit stupid to be talking to someone who definitely wouldn't answer - but it helped him to hide at least a little of his own inner panic from himself. For although Ivar swore with every single pluck of the fine blossoms and every sorting that he hated this Christian, he felt just as violently how his fingertips trembled gently.

He put the blossoms, carefully separated from the herb, into his mouth and chewed them until they had a paste-like texture. Only then did he press this pulp with firm pressure into the Christian's wound. The pus in the wound was even a bit greenish under the edge of the wound - Ivar knew it was high time. Maybe the Christian would just get through.

While Ivar kept going on with his work, his legs stretched out tiredly and his upper body bent over Heahmund whenever he pressed the pulp into the wound - Ivar's thoughts came up. From a purely logical point of view, his people would soon have to catch up with him, they just couldn't be that far away. It was almost impossible that they still were not here! Especially on horses. Unless they had walked in a different direction...

"It's all good," Ivar muttered as Heahmund's body twitched violently as he continued to fill the wound. He snorted lightly and pressed the last of it into the still severely infected-looking wound. He looked at his work with a slight frown - he had no idea whether he had enough or whether it was already too much. In any case, the wound was filled to the brim, and Ivar closed it gently with the bandages already used, since they had nothing else on hand.

For a moment he sat quietly, his hand still on the Christian's bandage, and listened to the sounds of the surroundings and the gentle inhalation and exhalation of the large chest below him. He really liked the Christian's body very much. Slowly, his fingers ran over the firm stomach, the tips gently traced the insertion of the abdominal muscles, and with a soft exhalation Ivar brushed his hand over Heahmund's chest. The many scars that adorned this strong man were just beautiful. It looked like a painting, drawn from a thousand stories of war and more heroics. But Ivar found the face best.

With a low sigh, he glanced at Heahmund’s still sweaty face, which was bound to have a feverish dream in his head; he twitched slightly, but then ran with a quick movement over his cheek.

"If you weren't such a fucking asshole, I'd fall in..." Ivar muttered, but he bit his tongue and quickly pulled his hand away; because suddenly he became aware of what he was actually doing here.

With a disgusted snort, he crawled away from Heahmund and wondered - what could he do? When his stomach began to rumble loudly, however, he already knew the answer, and set off for the surrounding area; maybe, with the gods' very good luck, he would find something to eat that weren't once cursed Christian herbs.

* * *

It was already dark, and only the fire Ivar had made lit the soft clearing they were still in. A sudden, slight scream, however, interrupted the pleasant calm that had just surrounded Ivar: he almost winced, then rolled his eyes again and gave the Christian an annoyed look who had just woken up with a still sweaty forehead. For a moment, the Christian didn't seem to know where he was - almost in panic his gaze turned to his surroundings, looked around frantically, before his eyes fell on Ivar sitting in front of the fire.

"What the- ..." the Christian exclaimed and looked down at himself; a slight moan escaped him as he moved his upper body slightly.

Ivar snarled softly. “You passed out. I told you to take the herb. Actually, and I'm serious - you should have been supposed to die."

For a moment there was a deep silence between the two; Heahmund still looked puzzled at his bandage, then again at Ivar, who had long since turned his back towards the Christian.

"Was that you?" he asked quietly after a while; the crackling of the fire grew louder, and Ivar bit his lip. He hoped the Christian didn't see it.

“No, those were the fucking forest fairies that came by here. Of course, it was me, you idiot. Do you think my people would let you live?” Ivar replied roughly; he crouched down a little, as best he could with his crippled legs. From the slight rustling and the unmistakable groan of pain, Ivar sensed that Heahmund sat down by the fire with a little distance; the Christian warmed himself by the flames for a moment before glancing back to Ivar.

"I thank you." Heahmund said curtly; at first Ivar did not answer, but wordlessly pushed the bowl over to Heahmund which they had been using for days; it contained a little of the herbs and something Heahmund eyed with wide eyes.

“They're mice, I couldn't find anything else. But they are fried, and they don't taste bad. Since you couldn't get me meat, I had to do it myself.", Ivar grumbled roughly at him; Heahmund didn't seem to mind the somewhat rough and provocative manner, because he bent over the bowl like a hungry wolf.

Ivar got goose bumps when Heahmund ate the meal with a groan of pleasure; he hated himself for it and actually wanted to prevent it, but then a crooked smile slipped into the corner of his mouth when he turned around to Heahmund with a slight movement and watched him eat hastily.

"Oh god, that's so good," Heahmund muttered between bites; it wasn't much, but Ivar felt a strange, violent tingling in his stomach when he saw how happy Heahmund was about this little thing. Which he, Ivar, had hunted. He tried to suppress this uncomfortable feeling by thinking about what his eye would look like - but when Heahmund smiled softly at him, Ivar's heart pounded.

“Because it was me who hunted it. Christians just can't hunt. Have you never learned it?"

Heahmund chewed on the mouse's small piece of meat for a moment, then swallowed and nodded roughly to Ivar. “Yes, of course. I just didn't find anything here. It was probably your outrageous luck that brought you this catch."

Ivar grinned slightly; the corners of his mouth twisted into a smile again, then he rested his chin on the knees that he had drawn to him. _Stupid, damn heart_ , he thought when he could feel his own chest pounding against his legs.

“I'm always lucky. Well... Except that somehow my people seem too stupid to search for me. I thought they had found me long ago and cut your miserable throat.”, Ivar said darkly; he watched Heahmund put the bowl aside and look at Ivar through the crackling, warm glow of the fire.

“Then why didn't you do it yourself? You know very well that I have a knife. You could have killed me. And left me to let me die. The next town is not far away."

Ivar was silent for a moment; his lips parted, and yet they closed again shortly afterwards. _Damn it, what should he answer to that now?_ His brow furrowed and his face looked piqued.

"I have that- you were... I still need you to get to the next town, because you asshole didn't take my crutches with you," he threw angrily at Heahmund, and the Christian suddenly let out a loud, hearty laugh. He immediately ran his hand to the injured side, and Ivar’s eyes darkened.

"I hope it hurts a lot, you bastard," he hissed angrily; Heahmund still laughed for a short moment before he replied in amusement: “Are you serious? Ivar the Boneless can't go anywhere without his crutches?"

“Very funny. You're right, I should have let you die."

With that hiss Ivar moved a little away from the fire and turned his back on the Christian; he could still feel how the tall man needed a little longer to find a reasonable sleeping position, but soon the silence of the night fell over them both again; Ivar did not wake up that night with the immense heat in his stomach. But when he opened his eyes briefly because he thought he had heard an animal in the middle of the night, he could see Heahmund’s arm stretched into his direction.

With a slight smile on his lips, he tried not to let this gesture affect him too much, even if he stretched his own arm into the same direction; when the fingertips touched slightly and Heahmund breathed out lightly, Ivar fell asleep faster than in any night before.

* * *

"Do you think they know who we are?"

A soft whisper came over Ivar’s lips; he had his forearms wrapped around Heahmund’s neck as he had piggybacked him the rest of the way to protect his shoulder; so, they had walked for a long time today, almost without a word, until they finally found the small town on the edge of the forest at dusk.

Heahmund let out a deep breath; he looked much better today. The pallor had left his face a little and he had already had a lot more strength, even if they had been a little slower today. For a moment he stared down at the little town that lay quiet and gentle; it really wasn't a big city.

“Hm, hard to say. I would say they definitely know you. But not me... you should put your hood on. That might make you look like a little child, and in the twilight, they won't notice it.”, Heahmund said softly; he jerked slightly to pull Ivar back up further around his waist; Ivar, however, snarled slightly.

“What do you mean by _like a child_? I am almost taller than you! Like, when I stand on my feet."

Ivar felt Heahmund's face run in an amused grin; yet he did not turn his head towards Ivar.

“But you rarely stand. We absolutely must not attract any attention. Otherwise, we will never come to England."

For a moment, Ivar’s body wanted to move by itself and nod gently; until he remembered _who_ by Odin’s name _he was_ and who the hell was the slave here. If the people in the village knew him - that would be his chance. He could get rid of the Christian, and also send riders out after his people...

Ivar bit his lip softly and considered. His fingers caught again in front of Heahmund’s neck, and he pressed his head lightly against Heahmund’s cheek. The Christian twitched slightly, and then Ivar opened his lips very softly and whispered beguilingly soft in his ear: “What if I betray you? You are a stranger here and everyone knows me... You actually have no chance, Christian... "

The words gave the Christian goose bumps, Ivar saw and felt it exactly; for a moment he breathed lightly against Heahmund’s skin, enjoying the smell and the warmth that emanated from the handsome man. His lips parted slightly, and through his unveiled eye he could see Heahmund also opened his mouth slightly and turn his face very gently in Ivar’s direction. For a small moment they almost looked at each other, and Ivar shot a more than violent tingling sensation through his body - his nerves literally flared up under this intense closeness - when Heahmund opened his mouth almost painfully slowly and breathed very softly:

"I have a better idea, Ivar..."

Goosebumps, such crackling goosebumps shot over Ivar’s body, and he was about to close his eyes for a kiss - when he suddenly landed on the ground with a firm jerk and a protesting cry. He couldn't even react properly, Heahmund’s fingers dug into his lightly braided hair so quickly, tore his head back so hard that Ivar let out a cry of pain. And then, with a lightning-fast movement, Ivar just felt a sharp knife go through his face and cut into his cheek and lip.

The screams of pain and the angry roar of the Viking could be heard several kilometers before the two had even reached the small town. Heahmund had been quick; he had thrown the coat over Ivar's head, thrown the raging and screaming boy's body firmly over his shoulder and had just started walking.

Ivar tried with all his might to kick the Christian in the balls, to kick against the wound that he had _fucking healed_ again - but it didn't help. The warm blood ran down his face, and the Christian's grip was so tight that he couldn't help it, no matter how mad he was. When his voice grew hoarse, Ivar stopped screaming; he licked off a little of the blood that was dripping down his chin and his full lips, while he still remained under the coat. It was like the worst situation he had ever been in. The cut was deep, so infinitely deep, and it hurt terribly. _What would he look like? With his cursed eye and his now more demolished face?_

Ivar clenched his fists in anger, gave the Christian a firm kick in the sensitive stomach area and snarled loudly. But no matter what he did - Heahmund stubbornly kept walking, even if the last kick had elicited a small sigh. All Ivar could do was wait and see what the damned Christian was up to. And he had to admit, to his shame, that somehow his own plans were all doomed. That damn Christian had clouded his head. It had to be something like Christian, disgusting magic that Heahmund performed on him.

Or, Ivar grumbled to himself as he exhaled softly and licked up a little more blood: or it had been the sex that had thrown him off course. He should have known that this love affair and these things with passion were not made for him! On the contrary, it clouded his senses and blinded him to his aggressive manner and his otherwise clever tactics.

When he heard voices, Ivar pricked up his ears: they seemed to be arriving slowly.

_Now the Christian would atone for his infinitely condescending manner._

“I am Ivar the boneless!! Grab this Christian! Kill him!!” he yelled as loudly as he could - and although his voice was rough and scratchy, he could hear footsteps approaching.

He felt Heahmund stop - blood slowly dripped onto the floor, and Ivar almost gave a snort of delight.

"Hey, you over there.", it rang out, and Ivar began to twitch; "I'm ...!" he wanted to scream, but Heahmund punched him in the ribs so hard that he fell silent.

Heahmund cleared his throat.

“Hello, please forgive this appearance. I found a cripple in the forest, very strange. He must have bumped his head badly, he keeps talking confused things about him being Ivar the boneless... Funny, isn't it?", Heahmund said in such a charming and friendly tone that Ivar felt like he wanted to simply spit into the Christian’s face again. He let out a low "Tss!", clearly audible, and got another fist in his side.

He felt sick, so bad from the blood and dizziness Heahmund made him feel. And he wanted to go home. Just go home, to his bed, to his surroundings... Should Heahmund die after all, he didn't care...

“Well, that's really strange. Does he need help?” a foreign man said with a grumbling voice; Ivar grunted softly, and Heahmund tightened his grip on Ivar’s waist.

"Oh no. I think he was trying to... attack some children, or whatever. He's really very confused, I'll take him somewhere else tomorrow, it’ll be the first thing I’ll do. Tell me - where can I stay here over night? And where do I get something to eat?"

Ivar got so dizzy he didn't even realize what was happening next. His eyes fluttered shut slightly, and the next thing he felt was Heahmund walking on and at some point, the man's voice disappeared. It got cold, colder and colder, and he passed out for a while. Hunger, anger, and exhaustion had taken their toll.

* * *

The next thing he felt was the coat being taken off his head - Ivar closed his eyes for a moment and sighed slightly. His lips still tasted of half-dried blood, the pain was throbbing violently in his face, and his entire body seemed to be crying out for sleep. But when his gaze came back into focus and he saw Heahmund’s face in front of his, so close, he reached out and hit the Christian with the flat of his hand in the face as hard as he could.

There was a loud clap; Heahmund didn't even squint. And when Ivar was about to stretch out his hand back again, a firm hand grabbed him around his wrist, and Heahmund's face shot forward, the free hand roughly grabbed Ivar's neck, and he pulled the Viking into such a breathless, wonderful, _heated_ kiss that it shot Ivar more than hard in the head from one second to the next.

The kiss tasted of heat and blood, and Ivar’s body immediately began to shake; he broke away from Heahmund’s lips, still looked the Christian in the face full of anger, but Heahmund bridged the last millimeters between them again and kissed him again, _and again_. It was a wonderful and extremely exciting kiss - Ivar tried to keep his boiling blood flowing, tried with all his might to fight what was happening here - but the gentle pain of the blood-smeared kiss broke him. _Completely and within two breaths._

He did not resist when Heahmund pressed his back on a soft bed; he did not resist when the Christian, with a violent groan, hastily began to unbutton Ivar’s armor. Every movement, every buckle that opened under such greedy fingers, started more and more fires in Ivar.

His fingers ran almost blindly into Heahmund’s dark hair, tore the hair on the nape of his neck blindly and dragged the coarse and tall man into further, breathless, hectic kisses; Ivar loved the pain that the cut caused when kissing, he loved the way Heahmund’s mouth shimmered, slightly bloodied, in the flickering, sparse light of the room.

A harsh groan slipped from him as Heahmund tore his armor and shirt off his body so roughly it was almost like violence; greedy fingers and hands ran over his chest, played briefly on the rosy nipples, which had already hardened briefly; as well as something else between Ivar’s legs.

But Heahmund did not immediately slip between his legs; he leaned over Ivar with a rough movement, looked into his face for a brief moment - so intensely that Ivar felt a wild throb in his loins - and then bent his head down to Ivar's neck to kiss the young, breathless Viking there. The kissing turned into a whispering, light biting within a few moments; as Heahmund's teeth gently bit his flesh, Ivar’s hand drove hard into his neck, scratching and clutching. Another breathless moan escaped him, the pleasure rushed into his limbs so hard. Rough, unbridled lust, and every look on Heahmund’s bloodied face seemed to intensify it.

Heahmund’s black head of hair disappeared deeper and deeper onto Ivar’s body; on his way down the Christian bit and kissed everything he could get between the teeth and lips; hasty fingers opened Ivar’s pants, kissed the gentle plain just before his dark hair. It was such an exciting feeling that Ivar blindly felt for something to hold on to. He only got hold of the arm of the simple bed; a trunk, slightly scratchy on his heated skin. As scratchy and wonderful as Heahmund’s beard stubble, which slid even deeper onto his cock.

A soft breeze made Ivar perceive, with a soft whimper, how Heahmund pulled his pants off his legs; here he was a little softer, Ivar could feel it clearly. And that controlled gentleness with his legs, his worst part of the body, made him see stars.

"You smell so good..." Heahmund whispered against his hipbone, which he got his hands on first from his nakedness; his beard stubble scratched the soft patch of skin that stretched over Ivar’s hipbone. Ivar swallowed hard and pressed his head tighter into the pillow below him.

His heart was beating up to his throat and his veins burned with the wildest fire.

"Heahmund, no..." he exclaimed when he felt his head sink lower. But even when his other free hand felt blindly for Heahmund and tried to pull his hair, this did not stop the Christian.

With one rough movement, Heahmund’s shoulders tucked under his legs, his hips lifted slightly; only very briefly did the lips slide over Ivar’s cock, leaving the thickest goose bumps Ivar had ever felt on his skin.

A breath brushed the delicate, highly sensitive skin on the inside of his thigh; he felt Heahmund’s breath bewitchingly hot over his skin and it left him breathless. Ivar swallowed so hard one could hear it in the dark room.

His cock twitched wildly as Heahmund put a soft, wet bite on the spot between his legs; he felt dizzy with lust and desire.

A whimpering, dark moan escaped him as Heahmund kissed the inner part of the thighs higher up; his eyes closed tightly, and Ivar pressed his head hard into the pillow again. His back arched slightly; burning, breathtaking moments that cut Ivar deep into the flesh and into his lust. With another, gentle moan, he bit himself into the cut on his lip, and when he felt Heahmund’s head move again, he truly felt his breath staying away for a moment.

Heahmund's hands clung tightly to the outside of Ivar's thighs, leaving him no room to escape, so that he could hardly move an inch - and then Heahmund's mouth lowered almost beguilingly and painfully slowly over Ivar's hole, his bare tongue licked around the soft muscle ring that immediately twitched at the touch.

When Heahmund entered him softly and lustfully for the first time, Ivar gasped violently; then a coarse moan that quivered escaped his lips, when he briefly felt the Christian's goose bumps on his thighs, which were still resting on the man's strong shoulders.

When Heahmund entered Ivar again with his tongue after a deep moan of his own, this time much harder and _deeper_ , while he held Ivar’s body so tight that it was an endless tingling between pain and hold, Ivar came.

It was such a sudden, violent coming that it drained his nerves; he couldn't feel anything, nothing but the wonderful pressure of Heahmund’s body in and above him; he felt all his strength, his lust, his fire. There was no more pain or anger; everything was drowned in the twitching orgasm that happened so suddenly for him.

Heahmund licked him through the entire orgasm; only when the waves slowly subsided and Ivar was breathing a little less, Heahmund released the firm pressure. The large body pressed itself so perfectly and warmly and soothingly on Ivar, that he opened his eyes very softly; between his open, bare legs, between which Heahmund now lay, he could feel the warrior's big and more than hard erection; it literally pressed against the pants, pressed between Ivar’s wet legs and his still slightly trembling entrance.

"Do you think you can make a second round?" Heahmund whispered dark and rough against his lips; when he kissed Ivar, letting him taste a little of himself, Ivar groaned profusely. His body was shaking so badly that he could hardly hold on; his hands moved to Heahmund’s shoulder blade, seeking support, and he met the lusty and fiery eyes of the Christian with fire.

"I _want_ a second round," he uttered, and it wasn't a second before they kissed so hard and desperately that Ivar felt as dizzy again as under the cloak today.

And while he was frantically tugging on Heahmund’s pants, wanting to finally feel his cock in his fingers and in his body, a brief thought shot through his head:

Heahmund did not steal his anger or his harshness. _He stole his heart._

__


End file.
